


For I Have Sinned

by enby_hawke



Series: All The Hawke Things [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Accidental Pregnancy, Asian Character(s), Broken Families, Character(s) of Color, Eventual Smut, F/M, Forbidden Love, Friendship, Horny idiots, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Love at First Sight, Malcolm and Leandra are both filipino cause you can't stop me, Modern Thedas, PTSD, Parental Abuse, Public Sex, Racism, References to Drugs, Spirit Shenanigans, Templar Abuse, exploration of class dynamics, exploration of race dynamics, i'm doing my own shit with magic shut up, is it cheating if you were coerced to marry??, plot heavy, spirits are friends and I will befriend them damn it, will update tags as I post
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:48:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28777053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enby_hawke/pseuds/enby_hawke
Summary: Malcolm Hawke, an elven somniari trapped in Kirkwall's Circle, stumbled upon Leandra Amell's dream in a meeting neither can forget. When a twist of fate has him performing at her betrothal ball, Leandra finds herself swept off her feet in the whirlwind romance she's always dreamed about, but will she be brave enough to take the leap or will she let Malcolm fall by himself?
Relationships: Leandra Hawke/Malcolm Hawke
Series: All The Hawke Things [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1434166
Comments: 34
Kudos: 4
Collections: All the Hawke things





	1. It Was All A Dream

**Author's Note:**

> So this was a novel then a comic, and now back to a novel when I realized with would be a 3-5 year timeline and I have original stories I need to get published and several of my own Hawke stories I want to get done. So here it is back in novel form and maybe someday down the line I'll pick up the comic idea.
> 
> I'm going to try to post on Saturdays but we'll see if I can keep a schedule as the updates roll out.
> 
> Malcolm and Leandra's love story was always one of my favorites and I spent the good part of 3 years imagining how their romance could have gone. This story really helped me through 2020. Hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Please note this novel is still under construction and may be subject to change because I plan to personally print it for myself (just to put on my shelf to read) with the cover I made so consider this the beta version. I just want it out of my head. So here is my result.
> 
> Here have test portraits I did of Malcolm and Leandra for the comic I was planning. Hawke, your parents are horndogs. I'm sorry you have to see this. Just close your eyes.

“I still do not understand what taste is,” the spirit somehow huffed. Malcolm knew it was a mistake to respond at all. The red specter hovered on the edge of Malcolm’s bed, it’s angry red glow a contrast to the murky green that the Fade was hazed in. It had somehow got in again, into the sanctum where he allowed his mind to rest as he guarded the dreamers of Kirkwall. Malcolm could have made his sanctum look like anything, but he didn’t bother giving himself the illusion he was anywhere else but his Circle cell. The thin sandpaper sheets did nothing to soften the metal bed underneath him. The cell had barely enough room for his dresser and desk that he used to do his studies, which he spent more time doodling on than learning. Even here he could still smell the faint aroma of the toilet that was next to his bed. Still, as unpleasant as his sanctum was, he needed a strong sensation to anchor his body, especially if he was going to battle a demon tonight.

Malcolm took in a stale breath, held it for 4 seconds, and gently let it go. It was important that no matter what happened, he remained calm.

The shimmering of the phantom became more urgent, more vibrant. Malcolm continued to ignore it, even turning his head and body away to make a point, but it didn’t seem to stop the creature from trying to dart into view, insistent on having his question answered. After the third turn of his head, the demon reached and gave one of Malcolm’s pointy ears a firm yank, screaming, “Can you hear me?”

On instinct, Malcolm swiped at the demon with a crackling fist, but the demon darted away. The sparks in Malcolm’s hand arced wildly as he leveled it at his target. “Fuck off, demon. I told you, one question.”

The wraith started to warp along with the Fade as anger emanated from Malcolm’s body. Claws started sprouting from it’s fingers and through it’s translucent skin, he could see it’s teeth starting to jut out at odd angles, but the demon made no move to fight him. “Were you listening? I am not a demon. I’m a scholar. And you are the first somniari I have come across in ages.”

The demon kept it’s distance but became more animated, gesturing with it’s gangly arms. “The last somniari only survived long enough to tell me about eating, but though I’ve tried it, the phenomenon remains perplexing.” Malcolm jumped as the demon inched closer. “Sometimes eating brings joy. Sometimes eating brings sorrow. Sometimes eating brings no emotion at all.” Quivering in curiosity, the demon then sprung forward so close to Malcolm could easily punch it. “Why somniari?”

The sparks in Malcolm’s hands died down as his eyes glazed over, caught in a memory. He saw his mother, with dark freckled brown skin, and beautiful curly hair that cascaded down her back, but her face was blurred as he failed to recall the details. Still, he remembered the smell of the plate of piping hot pancet that she placed in front of him, how the steam coming off of the unending noodles made his mouth water. She brushed his mop of curls from his eyes and kissed his forehead with a warm smile. “Happy birthday, Malcolm.”

The creature sniffed at his head as if he was about to take a huge bite. “Oh, what is that? That smells delicious!”

Malcolm swatted at the spirit as if it was an annoying fly. “Stay out of my head!”

But the spirit had already plucked the memory out of his head and dashed away a safe distance from the room. It wiggled in delight of it’s prize, and in it’s hands it materialized into a bowl of pancet. Malcolm felt a sick twist of envy as the spirit grabbed a handful of long fried noodles and shoved it into it’s mouthless face, slurping it down with wet smacking noises. “This,” sluuuurp, “memory tastes both,“ sluuuurp, “happy and sad, though the sadness is fresher.”

Malcolm, quaking in anger, rose to his feet, summoning threatening flames so high, they licked the ceiling. “Were you not warned of who I am?”

The spirit continued to eat in bliss, Malcolm’s threat no more than an annoyance. “The wisps call you,” sluurp, “Spirit Slayer.”

Malcolm raised a thick eyebrow, wondering why this spirit had no sense of self preservation. Or was this demon stronger than he thought? “So why do you risk pestering me?”

At this, the demon lowered the bowl, a mess of sauce dripping down it’s face. “Because only you can answer.”

The demon looked sadly at it’s last noodle and picked it up between it’s claws. “I, too, have lost much, somniari. I had a name once. I’ve given up trying to find it.”

“I’ve asked every stone, every wisp, but so much was lost after The Sundering. What I am, is what I have left.” The demon turned to Malcolm and though it had no eyes, he could feel it looking through him with earnest that he could feel thrumming in his heart. “So if this quest is my end, so be it.” Then it ate the noodle, looking oddly like a worm being sucked through a hole.

The flames died in Malcolm’s hands, his anger deflating with plumes of smoke. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt me to spare a moment.”

The words had barely left Malcolm’s mouth before his pocket started to buzz with a generic ringtone, that vibrated the air of the Fade like a tinging glass. The spirit cocked his head, confused as Malcolm dug through his pajama pockets and fished it out. “Sorry, demon, duty calls.”

“Scholar,” the spirit corrected, but Malcolm shushed him as he put it to his ear.

A terrified voice began sobbing through the speaker. “Help! Somebody help!”

Malcolm didn’t recognize the voice, so they weren’t one of the Circle mages being plagued for a meal. An apostate perhaps? 

“Hello? It’s going to be alright,” Malcolm began like he always did. He raised his free hand to feel the cords of the Fade that were weaving together, trying to connect to the dreamer who rang his phone. The air around his hands shimmered like sparkling dust, faint harp-like threads connecting from the tips of his fingers.

“Hello?” the voice answered back, full of confusion. “Who is this?”

“That doesn’t matter. Can you tell me where you are?” He stepped off his bed and towards his bedroom door.

“Where I am?” the voice repeated, slick with tears. “I’m…I don’t know.”

He could feel that she was panicked, confused, disoriented, and that there was a dark aura surrounding her, stronger than he had felt in awhile. Malcolm had been sure that he had cleansed this area of the Fade of demons, but this just meant that more would come in to feed on the remnants. Malcolm closed his eyes, reaching through the phone to try to peek at her dream. “Yes, you do,” his soothing voice taking a commanding tone. “Just open your eyes and describe what you see.”

He heard her gasping for air as she struggled to breathe but eventually she sputtered out. “I’m in my bedroom. It’s filling up with water, fast. You have to hurry.”

He put his hand on the door. Through the darkness of his eyelids he began to see light, and the running rush of water filled his ears. “Describe your room to me.”

“What would it matter!?”

“It matters if I’m going to find you.”

A beat of silence registered on the phone, before she continued. “Well, it’s a room…with a closet and a bed.”

“Helpful,” Malcolm snorted before he could stop himself. Still, a misty silhouette of a closet, which was more like it’s own room, and a grand bed with a flowing cloth canopy started to form. There was a body tucked within it, nestled on a throne of pillows.

“Well I’m in a state of panic right now! Can you blame me? My clothes are getting ruined. It’ll cost a fortune to redo these carpets, not to mention-”

Malcolm sighed, trying to press on as she chattered. It never did any good to argue, but this monologue wasn’t helping. “What color are your blankets?”

“Cream…embroidered with gold thread.” The vision in his mind began to fill in with color.

“And the pattern of the embroidery?”

“Really?”

“Messere,” Malcolm gritted his teeth. “It’s important you stay calm. The more you panic the faster the water will flood.” It wasn’t a lie, but he also needed her to hurry.

She relented with a sigh, and said, “a gold-leaf rose spread.”

It took a little more coaxing, but eventually Malcolm got her to describe her wallpapers, floral and pink, and her carpet, which she insisted before the flood was a beautiful white color. She also described a bookcase, her lute, and a vanity mirror where she would get ready for the day each morning, a family heirloom, made from wood of the grove of the Emerald Graves, with brass knob handles and the symbol of her family’s crest that was carved into the wood, that showed either two ravens perched in angular stone columns, or a dragon head, depending on how you looked at it. Soon he could see the room, and could finally solidify the flimsy connection.

He pressed his forehead against the bedroom door, eyes still closed, the hard metal cold and unforgiving. “Now I need you to walk up to your door and let me in.”

“Are you crazy?” she shouted so loud that Malcolm had to take his ear away from the receiver. “It’s going to let all the water in!”

“No,” Malcolm said calmly. “Because I will be on the other side.”

“You know that makes no sense.”

“You’re talking to a strange voice in your head, your room is flooded, and from my estimate about the cost of that vanity mirror alone, you live somewhere in Hightown. Does any of this make sense?”

This time she whined, which sounded more cute than annoying. “But I’m going to get wet.”

Malcolm burst out in laughter. He had run into a lot of dreamers, but while most were suggestive, she seemed to easily resist the strings connecting them. He could see deep into the pit of her heart that she was as stubborn as he was, which was saying something. It was intriguing really, but before his curiosity could run away with it, his sensible self reminded him that she was in danger. And with how long it took for him to find the location of her dream, the demon had now sensed him coming.

“Look, the door is locked, and only you can open it.”

“Can’t you just break the lock open?”

“Sure,” Malcolm said, “but that door represents the connection of your body to your slumbering mind. If I break it open, it would hurt…a lot.”

Silence filled the air except for the splash of rising water and the slurping noise of Scholar licking the last remnants of sauce from their bowl.

“You promise you’ll be on the other side?”

“Promise.”

She heaved a huge sigh and after a few moments, he could hear the sloshing of water as she started to wade her way through her bedroom, but Malcolm could not only hear it from the speaker, but the other side of the door as well. Malcolm shoved his phone back into his pocket and placed his hand on the doorknob that would normally be electronically locked, but right now, it was just another illusion of the Fade. As the lock clicked open, Malcolm turned the doorknob, blissfully unaware of how his life would change until he met the girl’s black doe eyes.

Malcolm did not register the rushing cold water that was now flooding his bedroom and soaking his feet. His mouth fell gape as he was stunned motionless by her beauty. She had tawny cream skin that looked like it had been cared for with the most expensive moisturizer regimens and luminous sleek black locks that cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. Her lush pink lips formed a perfect ‘o’ as her dainty eyebrows shot up, seeming just as entranced by Malcolm as he was by her. Malcolm’s gaze dropped down just for a second before it shot back up to her face, heat crawling up his neck, as he realized that her pastel pink nightgown was silk, lacy, and clung to every curve.

Malcolm had never felt such a strong reaction in his body before, and he wasn’t even in his body, which he was thankful for. His throat closed up as his mind suddenly emptied of all coherent thoughts and he was left staring at her face while trying very hard to erase the image of her body just seconds before. It was then, that she looked down and snorted. “You’re in pajamas.”

“So are you,” Malcolm stuttered back, immediately kicking himself for that answer.

She placed a hand on a cocked hip and it took all of Malcolm’s willpower not to drag his eyes back down to the movement. “You didn’t think to change before coming to a lady’s rescue?”

It was then Malcolm recovered, resting the palm of his hand on his chest as he bowed in apology. “Terribly sorry to disappoint, my lady. Had I known that I was on my way to meet a woman so beautiful, I’d have taken the occasion to dress up.”

A delicious blush formed on her cheeks and she patted them with her hands as she turned away shyly. It was there, in the corner of Malcolm’s eye that he noticed too late, multiple sets of eyes forming in the darkness that was once the woman’s room.

Malcolm grabbed the woman’s hand without thinking, trying to pull her into the safety of his sanctum, but a pair of inky black tentacles with slithery hands had already wrapped around her waist and pulled her back to the void. Malcolm tried to pull with all of his strength, but she was quickly slipping. He had left the door open for too long. Malcolm cursed himself for making such a careless mistake. It was one of the first rules of traveling the Fade and he had forgotten it like an apprentice. The woman screamed, her hands quickly slipping from Malcolm’s grip as more and more hand-like tentacles wrapped around her.

“You will not take my dreamer!” multiple warped wet voices screeched in the darkness, which made the woman shriek louder. In her fear, the woman’s grip slipped and Malcolm fell backwards as she quickly splashed back into the void, her screams quickly being drowned underwater in a stream of bubbles.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Malcolm scrambled to his feet, ready to dive into the portal when the spirit stopped him, using his bowl as a shield.

“Wait!” The spirit pleaded. “That’s a terror demon, an ancient one, and if you die fighting it, I’ll never get my answer.”

Malcolm recalled sparks to his hands as he raised a fist in warning. “Move or you’re next.”

“But-”

Malcolm shot a stream of lightning over the demon’s head, scorching the stone above the door. “MOVE!”

The demon blinked away before Malcolm further lost his temper and not a moment later, he dove headfirst into the murky portal.

He could hear the splash hitting him with a wall of liquid too viscous and acrid to be water. He could feel the strings of the Fade twist into the web around him, tightening the trap shut. It took a moment for his body to stop fighting with the gagging feeling of swallowing, of his lungs filling up with liquid. As he struggled to breathe he had to remind himself that even this was an illusion. He took only a moment to calm and gather himself, squinting through the darkness as he strained to orient. He could feel the woman’s panicked mind, could feel her flailing and kicking her way to the surface, but no matter how hard she swam the water never broke. If he couldn’t end this in time, she would drown for real.

With renewed urgency, Malcolm searched for the woman. The demon was close. Being somniari, he was extremely sensitive to a demon’s presence. The pain and wrongness of what they are manifested in a painful buzzing beneath his skin and now that it was feasting, Malcolm was in agony. Though the water was cold, his body felt like it was firing on every nerve, his bones seemed to vibrate, and he had to fight his own rising panic as he felt the woman’s consciousness begin to drift. There wasn’t time for him to fight the demon. Visible strings formed at the end of Malcolm’s fingers and he attached it to the webs around him and started to pull. The water shook and rumbled as he tore a chunk of the Veil.

His body jolted as the water suddenly had a direction to flow. Streams of green hazy light flooded the dark depths and revealed brilliant emerald sky, loomed the gates of the Black City. Malcolm frantically looked for signs of where the woman was and he spotted her a couple hundred yards in the distance, being dragged to the bottom by a slinking tentacle around her ankle, the last of her breath floating away in bubbles. With renewed vigor, Malcolm rocketed towards the woman, demanding the Fade to carry him to her with his crushing willpower. With a wave of his hand he sliced through the water. A ray of blinding light flashed through the darkness and cut through the tentacle, revealing the creature below for a moment, which made Malcolm’s stomach drop. It was too big for his eyes to fathom, with a mass of limb-like tentacles and hundreds of gigantic goat eyes bigger than he was. The water vibrated with an echoing screech that he felt in conjunction with his vibrating bones. Inky black streams of demon blood plumed in the water.

He jetted to the woman and gathered her into his arms, trying to ignore how soft and warm she felt against his thin night clothes. As he shifted directions back to the hole he tore, her hair whipped in his face and he sputtered, struggling to see where he was going. He clawed the hair from his vision, seeing the precious crack in the cage only a few seconds away, only for a vice like tentacle to wrap around his ankle and yank him backwards.

He lost grip of the woman, and more tentacles wrapped around his limbs, snaking up his torso and wrapping around his neck. The demon twisted him back towards the darkness where he could see the silhouette writhing and stretching, with limbs flailing as if it was just composed of thousands of bodies. The demon’s voice came with a croak, like a chorus of dying men speaking at once. “Here I was fighting for a sorry snack when I had a feast right before me.”

The demon’s many limbs squeezed Malcolm as another set of hands turned his face this way and that as if he was being examined. “Hmmm, but you’re such a strong one. It seems like a waste of this opportunity, doesn’t it?”

The demon dragged Malcolm closer in the darkness bringing it up to one of it’s square pupils swirling in amusement. “What do you say, somniari? With your power and mine we could change the very fabric of reality.”

Malcolm coughed, choking on his answer.

The demon chuckled and relaxed it’s grip. “Oh, I forget how you mortals need to breathe.” He patted Malcolm on the head. “Now…what do you say?”

“I said,” Malcolm smirked, taking in a breath of delicious not-air as his hands started to spark, “good luck.”

Before the demon could react, he filled it's body with electricity, the many limbs flailing wildly. The demon lost it’s grip and Malcolm jetted back towards the woman, and scooped her up, not bothering to stop for a breath. Then heading towards the crack in the cage, he began to imagine her door. What did she say? Brown Antivan sandalwood with baroque carved gold inlays. She picked the doorknob herself, the carving of Andraste as a child singing to the sun. He felt like he should be annoyed by how outrageous all that must have cost for a door and yet he was struck by all of the images she could have chosen for the warrior prophet, she chose her at peace, in song.

He couldn’t think about it much further before he had broken free. He exhaled and coughed out water and it started to gush freely and all over the woman, but she did not stir.

“You will not get away!” the terror demon shrieked, many inky black limbs harpooning towards them.

Malcolm did not have time to panic about the demon or the fact that the woman was unresponsive. He opened the door and slammed it shut behind him.

He rushed the woman to her too expensive gold inlaid cream comforter and laid her down. The demon started banging at the door and Malcolm threw his hand up, weaving up a barrier, then adding an extra layer and then one more for good measure. He turned back to the woman, his hands glowing blue as he examined her spirit body. With a gentle churn of his hands, he coaxed the water from her lungs until she could breathe freely. Then after a few panic inducing moments she coughed and sputtered, her eyes darting around in terror.

“Easy, now, easy,” Malcolm rubbed her back in soft soothing circles that immediately sprang into goosebumps at his touch.

Her hyperventilation soon turned into crying as she broke down in relieved sobs, grateful that she wasn’t living her worst nightmare anymore. Before Malcolm realized what she was doing, she suddenly clung to him, crying into his shoulder, the wet fabric against his skin a terrible reminder that her thin clothes were now see-through and she definitely wasn’t wearing a bra. He tried to ignore the burning electricity that ran over his skin and just continued to rub her back, tempted to make the moment last longer.

But a bang at the door was a quick reminder that he was on a deadline that was quickly running out. “Hey,” he choked out, and quickly cleared his throat of the stutter that was suddenly there. “You need to wake up now.”

“You say the silliest things. Don’t you think I’ve tried.” She pulled away with a frown. “Besides isn’t this the good part of the dream?”

Malcolm cocked his head. “The good part?”

The woman blushed again, unable to look at his eyes, which made him nervous for some reason. “You know…slay the demon, save the girl…celebrate?”

“Celebrate?” Malcolm asked cluelessly.

Then she did something he didn’t expect. She slid the spaghetti straps of her wet nightgown off her shoulders until he could see just the top of her peachy nipples.

Without thinking, he jumped back and looked away, shielding his eyes with his hands before he could tempt himself with another glance. “What in the Maker’s name are you doing?”

She then scowled, her face turning as red as he felt. “Why are you making this so weird? This is my sex dream.”

“Sex dream?” Malcolm burst out in surprised jittered laughter. “What kind of sex dreams do you have, lady?”

“Well as far as this one goes, I’d rank it my worst.” She hunched over, throwing her spaghetti straps back and bunching up her blankets to cover herself modestly.

Malcolm thumbed at the vibrating door. “Do you hear that banging?”

The woman looked at her shaking bedroom door as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “That’s just Mara trying to wake me up.”

“No, that’s a demon, trying to eat you.”

Her eyebrows shot to the top of her forehead. “You didn’t slay the demon!?”

Malcolm could have explained how he didn’t have time and that she was in immediate danger, but instead he said, “It was a really big demon.” Then the door started to crack.

Tears pricked the woman’s eyes as her knuckles whitened, clenching the blankets. Suddenly Malcolm sprang to her side placing a palm on her hand. “Don’t worry,” he rubbed her hand gently. “Just wake up. I promise, you’ll never have this dream again.”

Her doe eyes blinked back a tear. “Never?”

Malcolm smiled, reassuringly. “Never.”

She bit her bottom lip. “Then…it’s my only chance.”

Malcolm blinked in confusion, and in the next moment, her hands cradled his face and she pulled him into a kiss. Somehow he tasted strawberries and suddenly he realized that it was now his favorite flavor. Her lips were like the first bite of a good meal after you’ve been fed nothing but salted gruel. But she was more divine, more rich, and sweeter than he could imagine. He felt alive, awake, with an electricity running through him so that the tips of his fingers started to spark. Before he knew what he was doing, he was crushing her body to him, her racing heart thudding against his own. His hands trailed down her slick back and tangled in her hair as he tried to memorize this moment, how soft her lips felt against his, how her fingers raked through his curls. They kissed as if they needed each other to breathe, their tongues exploring desperately in the precious seconds they had. It was only when the door shattered apart and the woman cried out in pain that Malcolm remembered why he was here.

She cradled her head like it was splitting open and she needed to hold it together.

“Fuck,” Malcolm cursed himself as he examined her. He began to numb the pain around her head, sealing the wound into a scar. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

The demon began to flail it’s many limbs at the barrier, cracks already forming with each hit. Still, Malcolm massaged Leandra’s head with quick precise strokes of magic that she leaned into with a satisfied hum. As he worked, a soft smile formed on his lips. “So,” he purred. “What’s your name?”

The tense streaks of pain in her face eased as her gaze softened at him, staring at him through thick lashes. “Leandra.”

“I’m Malcolm,” he said in the next breath. “Thought you should know since you kissed me. Not that you’ll remember.”

She looked downright offended and smacked him on the shoulder. “I think I would remember the name of a man who kissed me like that.”

His smile fractured and his gaze dropped for a second. “You won’t…but it doesn’t matter.” Then he placed two fingers on either side of her temples and gazed deep into her black starry eyes. “Wake up.”

She gasped for breath as if she had just sprung up from being underwater and her form faded as her spirit drifted back into her body. That was when the last barrier split open.

A hand grasped around his neck, yanking him back into the dark void.

“I have you now, somniari. A worthy trade,” the voices spoke. He could feel his mental defenses being ravaged as the demon curled up around him, trying to invade his mind.

It wasn’t safe to fight like this, within the demon’s lair. It was better to retreat and plan this hunt for a better day, but could he risk such a creature to wander free? He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes trying to reach back for his body, to wake himself up.

“You will not escape me!” the demon screeched, trying to fasten his hold, but Malcolm was already fading, plummeting. There was a feeling of vertigo as his soul traveled through the slip of the Veil and back into his body where he belonged.

He gasped for breath, his body jerking upright, wild golden eyes flickering around him. Then he fell backwards in his bed breathing a sigh of relief. The hard metal at his back was a good reminder that he was safe, but he still clenched a sweaty hand into the soaked sandpapery sheets to make sure. His other hand clutched his throat where suction marks of the tentacles that had taken hold of his spirit, a terrible reminder how careless he had been. But his lips were still tingling and it wasn’t long until his fingers wandered there, tracing her essence, trying to remember what it felt like, but his finger was too rough to replicate the memory. Still, a warmness flooded his body and he relaxed back into his flat pillow dazing up at the ceiling, wondering, “Who the hell is she?”


	2. Leandra, Scion of the Amells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leandra can't forget about the kiss even if she can't quite remember the man's name. Still, as she readies herself for the day of her betrothal ball, doubts about her path start to creep into her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always imagined who Revka and Mara were, two women mentioned in Dragon Age that must have shaped the characters lives in profound ways. When I started writing Malcolm and Leandra's love story, I knew they would play a part, timelines be damned.

“An elf?” Mara’s obnoxious tittering laughter filled Leandra’s bedroom three mornings later, which was when Leandra finally had the courage to tell her. Mara was Leandra’s lady in waiting but more importantly, Leandra’s best friend, yet there were times that she questioned her decision. She was a fair skinned fit woman with short chin length chestnut brown hair. Today, in honor of Leandra, she had on a black and red rose ruffle sticking out of a tiny spike of hair, with dangly red earrings and a chunky red stone necklace, that clattered against her rather plain red and black work dress that Mara somehow made look flattering.

Leandra buried her face in one of her many pillows, face burning as it had been the whole time that she had been describing her handsome dream rescuer, whose name had somehow escaped her. “Leandra Amell, do you have a secret elf kink?”

She threw one of her pillows at Mara, who expertly caught it with both hands. “It wasn’t anything like that,” Leandra jutted out a pouty lip. “He just happened to be an elf.”

Mara laughed and threw her pillow back, which bounced off of Leandra’s chest as she fumbled. “Don’t give me that. He was the literal manifestation of your brain.”

Leandra groaned and threw her head face first into her pillow throne, knowing that she couldn’t rebut that point.

Mara slunk up next to her like a cat waiting to pounce, her cat eye make-up swept over her unhooded eyelids, completing the effect as her lips stretched in a predatory smile. “And what did you say about that kiss?”

“Kill me,” Leandra muffled.

“No,” Mara put a polished pink nail on her chin, “I think it was ‘I didn’t know that I could get so wet so quickly.’”

Leandra flung at Mara with a pillow, which she parried with her own. “I regret telling you.”

Mara bowed her head mockingly. “Pardon, my lady. I’m only repeating what I heard.”

Leandra’s shoulders slumped as she lowered her pillow, all amusement from the earlier moment left as Mara saw the look on her face. “It’s just…I’ve kissed Guillaume about 5 times now and not once did it feel anything like that.”

Mara lowered her gaze sadly. “It was a dream.”

Leandra looked at her best friend, searching her face for honesty. “But will I ever feel like that with Guillaume?”

Mara looked away and Leandra couldn’t tell if she was just choosing her words carefully or if there was something that Mara had been hiding from her. “Maybe. Things can change.” Then she threw on one of her signature devilish grins and said, “But if you want, you can always have some hot elf side piece.”

Leandra nudged her playfully, rolling her eyes. “Mara…”

“I’m just saying. Men never keep it in their pants. Why should you?” Mara threw up her hands in mock innocence as she slid off the bed and to Leandra’s spacious closet, before she looked back and said, “except Gamlen. I told him I’d pickle his pecker if I catch it in another woman’s vagina.”

Leandra shook her head in laughter, when a flash of red caught her eye through the closet. On a mannequin was a red maria clara gown with golden embroidery of the Amell sigil pouring from the bodice and cutting into the gown. The sleeves were huge and puffy with a modest sweetheart neckline, her mother’s specifications. It had all the makings of the perfect Amell betrothal gown and Leandra was not feeling like wearing it. Somehow it felt like everything was too real. In two short months Guillaume would take her name and be Lord Amell, like her father before her. She would become the true heir of House Amell, and though Guillaume himself was a delightful, kind man, she found that she felt nothing for him.

They had been destined to marry since childhood, arranged matches by their parents while they were still playing hide and seek in the maze gardens of the Viscount’s palace. He never raised his voice, was always patient, even when she was stubborn, and was a wonderfully attentive listener. From her friends, to her parents, to the local Chantry mothers, all insisted that Guillaume and Leandra were the perfect match, and yet a small voice, that was steadily getting louder and louder, was telling her that someone out there was waiting for her and she felt like she was waiting for him.

Perhaps the man, whose name was just on the tip of her tongue, was not who she was supposed to be with, but the kiss they shared had awakened a longing in her, that had only gotten more desperate. She had attempted to have the dream again, even going so far as daring to dip her toes into the ocean, as if she could find him somewhere out there in the water, but those beach walks only resulted in the usual strange dreams, which lately have been of hosting tea parties with nugs who are also Guillaume’s and her children.

What her subconsciousness was trying to tell her, she couldn’t say, but she did know that she would be wearing that dress tonight at her betrothal to Guillaume Du Lancet, hotel mogul, heir to billions. Suddenly she wondered if she could milk her mysterious “fever” a little longer and escape tonight.

Before she could mull much further, Mara had plopped back down on Leandra’s bed with three dresses draped over her arm. “So what are we feeling like today?” She held out the first one, the flowy fabric sweeping into the air and ruffling in it’s lightness. “Your Mother picked this nice floral the other day. She really wants to see you in it.”

Leandra tutted at the thought, her mood too sour to be in something so sunny, and before she could even speak her thoughts Mara discarded it on the bed, saying, “You’re right. It was pretty until I mentioned your mother.”

Leandra gave an undignified snort as Mara laid an inappropriately short powder blue party dress with a see-through pattern running down the stomach and an open back over her work dress. Mara could wear all of Leandra’s dresses better than her, in her humble opinion and her friend wasn’t shy about raiding her closet. Leandra rolled her eyes but all her annoyance was feigned. “Is that for me or for you?”

“Weeeell…now that you’re asking, I was thinking this might be a cute dress for my big date with Gamlen.”

“Big date?” Leandra asked with true interest. “As opposed to other ones?”

Gamlen was Leandra’s little brother and Mara had been dating him secretly for about 2 years, though since the Hartlings have always served the Amells, the flirtation had been going on since they were children. Gamlen would yank on Mara’s pigtails because he couldn’t think of a better way to get her attention. Mara gave as good as she got, though, and on one occasion, slugged Gamlen right in the eye after a playful, but unwelcome, yank. Leandra’s parents were furious and wanted immediate action on whoever laid a hand on their child, but Gamlen never told a soul how he got the black eye. The only reason Leandra knew was because Mara told her.

Gamlen’s manners had gotten a bit better since boyhood, but he still had terrible impulses. Gamlen’s parents were terribly hard on him, whereas Leandra could seem to do no wrong. He also had a habit of drinking and gambling, which had got him into all sorts of trouble. Mara had a way of leveling with him, bringing out the best in him. It was Leandra who told Mara that she had a crush on Gamlen before she knew it herself. And it was Mara who taught her what love could look like. She learned what loyalty was. What acceptance was. If she was being honest, she was jealous of what Mara and Gamlen had, but she would never let it show.

The smile on Mara’s face could make flowers bloom. She hummed and did a little twirl, which was a habit of hers when she was nervous. “I think…” she started slowly and then met Leandra’s gaze with a look of mixed uncertainty and then excitedly spilled, almost too fast to understand, “he’s going to tell your parents about us.”

Leandra smiled broadly, feigning surprise, even though it was her who kept insisting that he take that step. “I knew he’d come around.”

“Right? He just has a thick skull. Sometimes it takes awhile to get through,” Mara laughed.

Leandra’s smile strained as she tried to think of a way to bring up her next subject. She knew her parents would be against it at first, but she also knew once they could see how much they cared about each other, and a few dozen good spirited debates with Leandra in Gamlen’s and Mara’s corner, that they would understand that they were meant to be together. She didn’t want Mara to think that her parents didn’t love her, or that she wasn’t welcome by the family, but the Amells have always been staunch traditionalists. But surely the compromise had already been made. Leandra had already secured the family’s future by marrying Guillaume. There was no need for a second political marriage.

“Mara…you know my parents love you, right?” she began.

Mara smiled, though it seemed more strained than Leandra was comfortable with. “Of course. Your mother says she can’t live without my crab cakes.”

Leandra chuckled politely before biting her lip. “This might be… a difficult change for them.”

“You mean the Amells aren’t going to throw me my own betrothal ball?” Mara touched her chest in a joke too snarky not to register the disdain in her voice.

Leandra squeezed Mara’s hand and said, “Gamlen loves you and so do I. You’ve always been family, and one day I know we’ll be sisters for real.” Then she nudged Mara with her shoulder. “And if they don’t come around we’ll just have the wedding without them.” Leandra said it like a promise, because it was.

“Hold your horses,” Mara laughed. “I’m just telling your parents that I have and will continue to see your brother naked.”

Leandra groaned, rubbing her eyes in an attempt to wipe the image from her mind. “Please don’t mention you and my brother naked.”

Mara’s laugh was like a comforting song to Leandra’s ears, one that she couldn’t help but join in. Then Mara did what she did best and spoke the thoughts that Leandra could never dare to aloud, “Are you having second thoughts about Guillaume? Because we live in the Dragon age and you’re a modern woman. You don’t have to go through with this.”

Leandra desperately needed to hear that, but she hid her face as she answered, “No, of course not. Guillaume is wonderful. He’s the perfect gentleman.” She wanted it to be enough. She willed it to be.

Mara twisted her face in a comedic frown. “He could lose the mustache.”

“Mara,” Leandra protested with a laugh though she agreed. “It’s distinguished.”

“Well, he’s your man. If you like it,” Mara chuckled.

Leandra thought of how that should make her heart flutter but instead it was plummeting like a shot bird. Mara’s lips thinned at Leandra’s expression, but even if she wanted to say something, she decided against it.

“Well, I might have a dress that might suit that foul mood.”

  
  
  
  


The great antique oak clock that sat in the spacious but professionally decorated dining room ticked like an executioner tapping his fingers against the blade about to cut off Leandra’s head. She could feel her Mother staring daggers into her clothes and considering the way her fork was tapping along on her plate, she was seconds away from saying something. She then set aside an uneaten bite and smoothed a strand of graying black hair, which was fixed into a braided bun with an Amell crest pin. She wore the expected house color, red, in a perfectly tailored dress with bold black embroidery, but light and airy enough that it was perfect for a day of hosting. 

The greying woman, Bethann Amell, took a cloth napkin in her hands to dab her red lipstick and cleared her throat to announce that she’d like everyone to pay attention. Leandra gulped, realizing that the chop was about to come. Her mother turned to her father, who seemed to be the odd one out of the family with his much paler skin and eagle-like nose, that balanced a pair of smart, calculating glasses. While the rest of the Amells shared dark locks, his greying hair was blond as the sun and defied his slick gel in lifting tufts. He was busy reading emails on his phone as he stuffed his face with marinated beef from his plate of tapsilog, too absorbed in his work to pay attention.

“Lord Aristride, dear.”

He glanced up from his phone, the light reflecting on his glasses. “Yes?”

“What do you think of Leandra’s dress?” her mother tutted, with a look of feigned innocence.

Leandra tried not to be annoyed as she noticed a small smirk form on Gamlen beside her, but he made no effort to defend or condemn her.

Lord Aristride blinked a few times and stared at Leandra’s dress in confusion for a few seconds before he resumed his work. “She looks lovely.”

“Thank you, Father,” Leandra hid her smile in a sip of orange juice.

“Will you pay attention to something other than that phone?” her mother scowled from across the table and pointed with her chin. “Where are her house colors? She looks more like she’s going to a funeral rather than to her betrothal ball.”

Lord Aristride gazed down at Leandra’s dress in concern for the first time. “That is a lot of black, sweetheart.”

She was, in fact, wearing only black; a lace cardigan over a short tulle cocktail dress. She had almost asked to borrow one of Mara’s black lipsticks, but she knew her parents would not think of that as an appropriate makeup and thought better of it. She cut into her eggs nervously and blurted out what she had rehearsed in her head when she made the decision to wear the dress. “I’m going to Aunt Revka’s today. I wanted to be respectful.”

At that, all noise in the dining room stopped, except for the antique clock’s tick, tick, tick.. Aunt Revka, who was actually Leandra’s cousin, was not a subject to be brought up casually. Of her four children, three were discovered to be mages and sent off into different Circles. Her husband left her after her second eldest, Robert, w as discovered and after her third child, Isaac, manifested powers and was taken,  she had been in a state of perpetual mourning. It was a huge scandal that reminded the rest of Kirkwall’s nobles that the Amells had once come from a proud family in Tevinter, ages ago before this land was named Kirkwall. 

At the heavy silence, Leandra felt a deep guilt for bringing up her unfortunate cousin, but nothing she was saying was a lie. Leandra made it a point to do weekly visits to her cousin and when her tea session landed on her betrothal ball, she never thought about moving or cancelling it. She knew that she was perhaps the only one of her family to make an honest effort of keeping in touch outside of social events.

“That’s very thoughtful of you, sweetheart,” Aristride nodded before returning to his phone.

Her mother’s lips turned into a thin line but she returned to her breakfast, turning her ire to another target. “And you better not embarrass us tonight, Gamlen. It’s Leandra’s big day.”

Gamlen flinched as if he was hit, and Leandra quickly snapped back, “Mother, Gamlen is not an embarrassment.”

“Please,” her mother tittered, holding in her laugh with a delicately wrinkled hand that defied age-cream moisturizers. “After bungling his engagement to the Baudelaire’s he’s been nothing but an embarrassment. The least Gamlen could do is just let you do the talking, dear.”

Gamlen’s broad shoulders slumped and Leandra went to squeeze his hand, but he shook it off with a flash of anger in his blue eyes. His square jaw tensed, and the thick lines of his neck tightened as he clenched his fork. “Don’t worry, Mother, I’ll stuff my face like I’m good at,” and to prove that point he scooped a heaping pile of fried rice into his mouth and chewed with loud wet smacking noises.

Her mother and father sighed together, her father pinching the bridge of his nose while her mother looked up to the heavens in a pleading prayer.

Leandra thought quickly of a way to salvage the situation. “Actually, Gamlen is coming with me to see Aunt Revka today.”

Gamlen looked at Leandra with as much surprise as their parents. “I am?” he asked, causing Leandra to give him a swift kick under the table.

Gamlen grunted and glared, his beaky nose flaring.

“Yes,” Leandra’s smile was all teeth as she pleaded with her eyes for Gamlen to play along. “Aunt Revka was saying how much Colette missed you two painting together.”

And there it was, a smile of surprise, more than anything else, but a smile nonetheless. Their parents shared a look, and then turned to Gamlen. His mother’s dark eyes softened at her son for the first time this morning and her father actually put down his phone with a resolute nod. “Good for you, son. It’s important to take care of the family.”

It was a sweet moment until her father added, “Even if they’ve brought shame to our house.”

Leandra’s genuine smile turned bitter and she scooted her plate away, food still half-eaten. “Well, we’re running a little late, aren’t we?”

Though Gamlen was slow on the uptake, he was quick to find any reason to get away from his parents. “I’ll go get my art supplies.”

Leandra took that cue to rise with him, though unlike him, she waited with her hands folded for her parent’s dismissal. Both her parents rose to join her, and crowded her in a three part hug just as Gamlen slammed the door. If her parents noticed, they made no sign. Her father tousled her bangs with a kiss to the forehead. “We love you and are so proud of what you’re doing today.”

Her mother took a pack of concealer, Leandra’s lighter tawny beige color, and applied the powder to where her father kissed. “Now don’t mess up her makeup on her big day.”

Leandra rolled her eyes at her mother, not sure if marrying someone should warrant such a response. “Mother, it’s just Auntie. After that I’ll be back. No one will care about some smeared foundation.”

“Still,” she noticed her mothers dark eyes were misting up as she arranged her bangs to be perfectly in place. “Appearances.”

Leandra was subjected to at least one more hug from each before she could meet Mara and Gamlen at the town car. Her driver, an older elven gentleman named Senhel, was already waiting for her. He had been with the family since her great grandpa was alive. He was a friendly, chatty man with red hair and bright gray eyes, who liked to watch people and talk to strangers as he waited. He always told Leandra the most fascinating stories about the things he saw. His favorite stories to tell were of being a key witness to neighborhood robberies, which he was on three separate occasions, but most of his gossip was about who got a dog, whose kids are growing up and what the neighbors were fighting about. 

The older but still fit man hunched his back in a bow and took off his cap in greeting as he spotted Leandra coming off the steps of her mansion. She noticed that Senhel was perched near the porch rather than near the car. “Is there a funeral today? I missed the memo on the dress code,” he joked in his usual chipper manner.

“Not yet,” she grinned back. “But it’s still morning, isn’t it?”

“Hope it’s not mine,” the man chuckled as he pulled on his suspenders. “Got the big 5-0 coming up with my Mister.”

Leandra’s heart ached in envy as she saw the huge grin on his face. “That’s next week, right?”

Somehow the man’s grin got wider. “You remembered.” He then placed his cap back on, and adjusted it to the right angle without looking. “It was real sweet of your fiance to host me at his hotel. It’s really going to make the night special.”

Her smile froze at the mention of her fiance’ but Senhel was thankfully not as observant as Mara and found nothing amiss as he continued, “You and Guillaume are a story for the bards, I tell you.” He waggled his finger playfully. “I remember when little Guillaume was only yeigh high,” he gestured to his hip. “How attached he was to you the first moment he laid eyes on you. You were inseparable with your little matching outfits.”

Leandra’s face burned as she thought of a young bored self listening to her mother and Lady Du Lancet arguing over the cut and design of their outfits at the dress fittings. Leandra and Guillaume would always find a way to sneak out to raid the kitchen for snacks and Leandra would no doubt be scolded for getting icing on her dress. She did recall those memories with a certain warmth, and they had always shared a kinship of overbearing parents that had only groomed them for success. Suddenly she thought of how she could share that warmth with him, even if it wasn’t the type of song she dreamed her life might be about.

She swallowed down her fears and forced a smile as genuine as she could manage. “Thank you, Senhel.”

“For what?”

“For reminding me I should be grateful.” She nodded resolutely. She would not give any more voice to these doubts. She would not ruin her future over wishy washy feelings.

He gave a friendly pat on her shoulder, his hands knotted and wrinkled. “We all need a little reminder from time to time.”

Leandra turned to let herself into the car.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Senhel hurried in front of her and towards the car. At first she thought it was at Senhel’s insistence of propriety, but that’s when she noticed the car was slightly rocking.

He banged on the window with a scowl on his face. “Alright you hooligans, Leandra’s here so knock it off!”

Gamlen’s strained muffled voice answered from inside. “Just a minute!”

Leandra’s face burned bright crimson and she tried and failed to not imagine what was happening in the back of that town car, her brain short-circuiting at the brazenness of it all. She could never imagine wanting somebody so much that she could forget such social etiquettes like public decency. She was just grateful Senhel was quick enough that she didn’t catch them in the act…again.

“Apologies, my lady,” Senhel looked at Leandra sympathetically. “He gave me a sovereign to leave…and like I said, my anniversary’s next week.”

Leandra cleared the tightness from her throat. “Quite right.”

Senhel marched to the trunk and popped it open, which caused Gamlen to yell from the backseat, but Senhel ignored him. “I think they packed a towel somewhere and I always keep cleaning supplies handy 'cause…your brother,” he chewed on his last words with a mutter.

Leandra couldn’t meet Gamlen’s eyes the whole time Mara and he chatted away, but he seemed to prefer that. She was holding her breath, trying not to take in the overbearing scent of air freshener, that was not doing as great a job as Senhel claimed. Mara was wearing the skin tight blue dress, now ruffled, her stomach poking through the lace. Leandra would find a casual way to let Mara know later that she could have the dress, for even if she washed it a thousand times, she would never be able to scrub out the memories.

Mara and Gamlen were busy trying to find a restaurant to hit up before they spent the day on Gamlen’s yacht, and while Leandra politely answered when Mara asked questions, she found that being surrounded by such lovey dovey nonsense was quickly nauseating. Every casual pet-name, or inside joke, or kiss that bordered on makeout was a reminder of something she didn’t share with Guillaume. She was used to third-wheeling with Gamlen and Mara, and though she was trying to convince herself that she could accept not marrying the love of her life, she couldn’t help but imagine how, in a year or two from now, she would give up her best friend to her brother on the Chantry steps in front of a crowd of the city for all to celebrate. And it would actually warrant a celebration.

Senhel pulled the shiny black car up to the Amell's lesser estate, which was a grand, but much smaller, mansion with high white walls that were dull and in need of a wash. The manicured yard was filled with a different variety of roses lining the black iron gates that fenced the property in. They pulled into the driveway, which was much more cramped than Amell's outrageous main estate.

Gamlen gazed at the estate with a look that could be construed as pity as he peered at the windows that had red curtains blocking out most of the light. His face twisted in a frown, “I don’t really have to go in there, do I?”

Mara nudged him with a look of annoyance. “Ducky, would it kill you to spend an hour with your niece? We did pack the art supplies.”

Gamlen took Mara’s delicate chin in his aristocratic hands. “Sure, but wouldn’t it be more fun if I painted you, Sugar Lips?”

Mara giggled as he pulled her in for a kiss. Leandra held in gag as she tried not to imagine what that meant. “It’s alright,” she said quickly, hand already on the car door. “I have to discuss some details of Aunt Revka’s case anyways and it might bore you to tears. You go on ahead.”

“Are you sure?” Mara asked, placing a hand on Leandra’s knee, searching her face for the truth.

Leandra placed her hand over Mara’s and squeezed back with a smile, grateful that she had a friend who loved her so much. “Truly,” she swallowed the bitterness she felt and said, “Have a splendid date.”

Gamlen relaxed back into the leather seat, his arm cradling Mara closer, a satisfied smirk settled on his lips. “Have a nice visit,” which he somehow made sound sarcastic.

Mara shot him a warning glance before letting go of Leandra’s hand and patting her knee. “Tell me all about it later.”

Leandra made her way to the white spacious porch and knocked on the stained glass decorated door. It only took a few moments for a frail mousy woman with a maid outfit in Amell colors to answer. Her face immediately brightened at Leandra’s presence. 

“My lady, you’re early,” her sharp green eyes wrinkled into a smile.

“Hello, Deanne,” Leandra smiled warmly, stepping into the darkened foray.

She barely got through the door when a delighted shriek and the pounding of footsteps echoed upstairs. “Auntie! Auntie!” A little girl with a matching red bow and dress and a run in her stockings careened through the house like a tornado and soon began hurrying down the stairs.

Another older woman, who everyone called Nanny, was much slower and held her lower back as she walked as fast as she could without jogging.

This house used to be bustling with servants but the staff had been reduced to just Nanny and Deanne, except for Carl, an elf who was their gardener and only worked on weekends. The estate’s allowance was reduced to save money, since most of the staff believed the family to be cursed, and Revka preferred to only have those around her who were already loyal to the family.

“Miss Colette! What did I tell you about running in the house?” but the girl was already halfway down the stairs before Leandra saw a familiar gleam in her eye.

“Auntie! Catch me!”

“No, Colette, we talked about this!” Leandra said, but the girl had already launched herself, her wavy free flowing brown hair streaked through the air, her tiny arms outstretched freely as she giggled in delight. Leandra stepped up without thinking and caught her midair by the waist, almost tripping in her heels as she careened backwards. Thankfully, Deanne was there to steady her before the momentum could tip them both over.

“Now, Miss Colette!” Nanny scolded, as she made her way down the stairs with difficulty, shuffling down each step with a creak of her knees. “What did I tell you about jumping off the stairs?”

“But I wanted to fly!” Colette put her arms out like a plane leaning backwards so that Leandra quickly lost grip.

“Colette!” Leandra shouted as she quickly re-caught her, Colette giggling like it was the funniest game. Leandra quickly put her down before she tried again. “Humans can’t fly. You’re going to hurt yourself doing that.”

“When I talked to Isaac yesterday he said that mages can fly.” Colette put her hands on her hips. “I want to be a mage. Mages can do anything! If I was a mage, I could visit Isaac every night and maybe Anna and Robert, too.”

Leandra shared a look with Deanne and Nanny. While Isaac, Colette’s older brother by two years, was close in Kirkwall’s Circle, Anna was in Ostwick and Robert in Markham. Revka and Colette visited as often as she was allowed, traveling from Circle to Circle, but even for all of the Amell's power, Revka could only take Colette once a week, to only one of her siblings after Mass on their day free of study. Leandra planned to change that.

“Colette,” Leandra straightened her lopsided bow and patted her head. “Do you want to let your mama know that I’m here?”

“She’s drinking her special tea in the garden,” Colette said and darted off to the back of the house.

Leandra quickly said goodbye to the two women who seemed to be relieved to be able to go back to work, and walked quietly through the house, passing pictures and relics of what used to be a rather large family, now reduced to two. She walked through the living room, which was large with a warm smoky fireplace, the room filled with all sorts of games that the children used to play: Robert’s toy military airplanes modeled in exact replicas, Anna’s porcelain doll collection that stayed dusted on the shelves, and Isaac’s colorful toy garbage trucks. Her parents were horrified that Aunt Revka allowed Isaac to have such toys, but Isaac thought that the machines were really cool and wanted to operate one when he grew up. All of Colette’s coloring books and sketch pages were scattered on various surfaces and pinned to every spare wall. 

Leandra walked up to a sliding glass door to a white wooden deck that overlooked a garden. At a lavish tropitone on the outdoor patio, Revka Amell was nursing a pot of tea, her cup no doubt spiked. The garden was the only place kept light and airy, an array of roses and posies and hyacinths and other colorful flowers decorated the small field cut into view by the other mansions of Hightown where Colette would play. She was a plumper woman, her drooping cheeks giving her the impression she looked frailer and older than she was. Colette was already at her mother’s knee, the bouncing bundle of energy a stark contrast to the slow, dazed way Revka sat up. She smiled weakly at her daughter, clutching her tiny hand as she talked to her.

“Can I get the special cookies we got for tea, today?” Colette bounced on her heels.

“Do you need any more sugar, little bird?” Revka smiled weakly, her brown eyes dull of the life that she used to have.

Colette pouted a reddish brown lip. “But we picked them out together.”

Revka patted Colette’s cheek, her smile for once serene. “Well, it is a special day. Go on.”

As soon as Colette disappeared back into the mansion, her smile turned somber as she turned to Leandra. “Hello, dear. Congratulations on your big day.”

“Thank you, Aunt Revka. I’m truly blessed by the Maker to have met such a fortunate match,” Leandra smiled thinly and nodded, seating herself, knowing Revka was past the point of caring if Leandra adhered to the little rules of propriety.

“I’m afraid I’ve gotten word from my lawyer last night,” Revka sighed and put down her teacup as Leandra poured a cup for herself. “They can allow the phone sessions and video calls but they say there’s no room in the Chantry’s policy to allow blood relatives to be in the same Circle.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Leandra dropped the teacup from her lips before she could take a sip. “We are staunch loyalists who have donated fortunes to the Chantry. Can they not make room in their policy?”

Revka lifted the cup back up to her lips. “My lawyer says that if they allow one rule change, they’d have to allow others and apparently they don’t want to open that door.” Revka looked like a broken rag doll, her shoulders sagging into the art deco chair for support.

“Then we can find whoever does have the power and convince them to help us,” Leandra stood up and set her teacup down so forcefully that the liquid sloshed over the side and onto the plate below. “It’s too early to give up!”

Revka’s face twisted in pain. “Don’t be naive, Leandra. We can’t stand against the Chantry,” Revka’s hands trembled, her teacup starting to clatter against the plate. “I thank the Maker every day for their mercy to allow Isaac to remain close. He still hasn’t even lost all his baby teeth, but I have to focus on Colette. I can’t lose her, too.”

Leandra reached out and steadied her hand with a comforting squeeze. “You won’t.”

That’s when the tears that Revka had been holding back spilled out of her eyes.

“I caught her talking to herself again last night.”

A beat of worry passed through Leandra, but she tried to not let it show. “Children play games. I had all sorts of imaginary friends as a kid.”

Revka rubbed her reddening eyes as she sobbed. “She’s showing signs like the others. Sometimes I’ll come out here in the morning and find the areas where Colette played in bloom with flowers that I know my gardener didn’t plant. And you remember the crow?”

Leandra nodded solemnly. There was a crow that had followed Colette around for a week and the girl insisted that it had lost someone. At first everyone thought that it was make-believe, but it turned out Lord Loiusoix had gone out of town on business that month and one of his pet crows had gone out to search for him. The crow incident was not to be talked about in front of Revka or to anyone else for that matter, but it still weighed heavily on the house’s mind.

Leandra took one of Revka’s hands. “Auntie, please believe me when I say you’re not in this alone. If Colette has magic, we’ll figure it out.”

Revka nodded, comforted by her words even if she didn’t look like she believed them.

They heard the sliding door open again and Colette came walking beside Deanne carrying a tray of colorful assorted meringues. At the sight of her mother’s face she abandoned Deanne and rushed up to her mother, her tiny doll-like face twisting in worry. “Mama, are you feeling sad again?”

Revka wiped her tears and sniffed, taking a napkin and dabbing her eyes. “No,” she replied, forcing a smile. “Mama is happy you’re here now.”

“Then I won’t go, ok?” Colette hugged her mother on her chair, though it wasn’t exactly lady-like how her skirt flipped up, but no one there made any comment.

Deanne was already setting the plate of meringues on the tropitone and as soon as she did, Leandra nodded, “Thank you, Deanne.”

Deanne smiled back and nodded at them before dismissing herself.

“Do you want a cookie?” Colette twirled her finger in her hair, still cradled in her mother’s arms.

Revka smiled and picked up a meringue, breaking the flaky crust in half. “I don’t think I can finish it. Do you want to split one?”

“Sure!” Colette beamed and grabbed her half eagerly. Revka took a moderate nibble before setting it down next to her tea while Colette shoved the whole thing in her mouth.

Revka laughed, a sound Leandra wished she heard more often. “Silly bird, that’s not how a lady eats.”

Colette smiled, the pink goo of the meringue coating her teeth, which caused Revka to laugh again.

The rest of the tea session went just as pleasantly. They colored a few pages together and then added it to Colette's growing gallery of paintings, which were starting to look stronger each day. Most of her personal drawings were her doing magic with her family. Leandra could start to recognize some of the faces of her brothers and sister. Revka held strong as Colette explained each piece until it was time for Leandra to get ready for the ball, and Leandra suddenly felt like eating glass.

“When can I go to a ball?” Colette held onto Leandra’s skirts as she walked her out, Senhel already waiting in the driveway.

“I attended my first one at 14. It won’t be that far away, don’t worry,” Leandra tucked some stray hair behind the girl’s ear and kissed her forehead. “Now don’t go jumping off the stairs, you little monkey.”

“But you always catch me,” Colette hugged her thigh as she looked up at her with big brown eyes.

Leandra rolled her eyes in an exaggerated fashion that made Colette cover her mouth in a naughty giggle.

As she stared down at her niece she felt more determined than ever. She would do whatever it took to make sure her family was together again.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Mara, stealing Leandra's dress. 
> 
> Started my DA2 modern retelling called "What Good Can Come From Blood Magic?" If you liked this story, maybe follow that one, too. I know the story might be a lot slower because comics are a slower art form but I'm really proud of what I've done so far.


	3. Malcolm Hawke, Circle Slacker by Day, Demon Hunter by Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm has been trying his best to find the terror demon. His teacher has other plans.

The hunt for the demon had not gone as planned. For such a powerful essence, it left very little trail of where it had disappeared to, but that didn’t mean anything in the Fade. Malcolm had run into quite a few terror demons in his time, but the variety he was used to was much smaller, parasites, more than anything else, that attached to a dreamer’s fears and inflated them until they became debilitating. They were cowards for one. They preferred weak prey that they could immobilize and from what Malcolm could tell, everyone saw something different. They were able to weave their webs on even the most cautious victims, able to blend in to their surroundings when they wanted to, and apparently, to Malcolm’s growing frustration, mask their essence trail. He knew that there were some friendly spirits around that could be safe enough to ask, if he could trust what they said.

Still he had not exactly spent the last few years having tea parties with spirits. In fact, wisps had gotten to a point where they fled from his sight. He realized with bitterness that he would need to change that and had spent the last 3 days trying to get close enough to one without spooking it, but it was terribly difficult when your moniker was literally Spirit Slayer.

There was a particularly brave one that was always hovering from the distance and he had spent all night and the better part of the morning snoozing through all his classes in order to coax it closer, though it was frustrating when his teachers kept waking him up. He tried to fake sick but he was examined by a healer to verify, since he used that excuse so often. He was in his Advanced Placement Spellcasting class, which was the period before lunch where he could have a whole hour of peace after a quick snack and finally, finally he was making some headway.

“Trick?” the wisp asked again in it’s usual simple sentences. It’s shining ball of light glowed red, flashing in a sheen of green sky. He had followed up into the stratosphere where the wisp had hoped to lose him.

“No trick. I won’t hurt you,” Malcolm said for what he felt like the thousandth time, but still this was the longest he’d gotten the creature to stay still. “I just want to find a big, big terror demon. Have you seen-”

At the mention of the terror demon, the wisp blinked away with a gasp.

“Wait, come back,” Malcolm flew forward, calling out to the creature.

He reached out and plucked the Fade thread of where it was trying to follow the essence trail, but it had teleported to another dimension altogether. He kept plucking the string, wading through the cacophony of spirit’s hushed whispers, trying to either recognize it’s voice or it’s scent or anything really. This was a terribly slow process at times that required lots of concentration. Wisps were especially difficult since their voices could easily be lost among water, enjoying it’s tumble through a river, or a tree drinking up the sunshine or a rock really enjoying its solid form. Everything in the Fade talked so that it was a constant hum of whispers.

Summoning the image of his bedroom door, he grabbed parts of the Fade with his hand and reshaped them like clay, building it piece by piece. When he was done, he pried open the steel bars, still creaking like he remembered. Suddenly he saw a garden where the mushrooms were as big as sacoyas and strange tiger striped purple grass twisted into each other like they were hugging. The various colored and shaped mushrooms swayed like they were dancing in a breeze that wasn’t blowing. In the middle of the field was the red glowing wisp slowly floating in a circle and humming, “Shiny.”

“Shiny,” the grass sang back. Then the mushrooms sang that back, and then the sky echoed back, until it came back to the wisp who repeated the cycle.

That stopped as soon as Malcolm stepped through the portal of his door.

The Fade held its breath, the whispers dying down to listen as Malcolm held up his hands in peace.

“No follow,” the wisp shouted, blinking and quivering in fright.

“Yes follow,” Malcolm stepped forward. The grass curled away from him, the blades tightening.

The wisp darted away a few feet and hid behind a mushroom that puffed up. “Why follow?”

“Because I need to-” Malcolm paused, about to say ‘kill’, but thought better of it and said, “get rid of it.” He wasn’t sure if he should specify who it was, but he didn’t want to go chasing it down again.

The wisp paused in consideration, and peeked around the brown spotted mushroom. “Can’t…tell.”

It seemed the terror demon didn’t just scare mortals. So Malcolm tried a different tactic. “What about you take me to someone that can tell me.”

It blinked away, and for a moment Malcolm thought that would be the end. Malcolm walked up to where the wisp was and plucked the Fade string to see if it had just gone behind another mushroom, but it had teleported far away again. He was ready to give up and try another wisp when it blinked back with a friend, a familiar not-face eating what looked like a mostly empty bucket of deep-fried nug legs covered in red sauce.

“Oh, hello, again,” Scholar said with a full mouth. “This wisp tells me you survived Zelophehad somehow.” The spirit swallowed the bone and then picked up another greasy nug thigh. “Well, congrats on that,” the spirit bit into the leg and chewed loudly. “So did you call to tell me what taste is? You didn’t have to send a wisp to do it. You could have called me.”

Malcolm wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or annoyed to see Scholar, but at least this demon wasn’t aggressive…yet. He knew that could change in an instant and it mostly relied on his ability to control his temper. “No,” Malcolm took in a calming, steadying breath as he readied his nerves. He had never tried actually talking to a demon before and he was edgy, just waiting for them to ask for a deal. “I came to ask about Zelvilod or whatever.”

“Zelophehad,” Scholar corrected.

“Gesundheit.”

“That wasn’t even close,” the creature smacked it’s strange not-mouth loudly.

“Does it really matter? It’s a demon that needs to die yesterday. I don’t need to know how to pronounce it’s name,” Malcolm snapped.

The wisp gasped and disappeared and Scholar’s face twisted into a snarl, that suddenly turned into a burp. “Will you stop with that emotion? You’re going to twist me and you’re ruining the flavor.”

Malcolm wanted so badly to snap again, to tell him that lives were on the line and that he didn’t have time to watch him eat, but Malcolm bit his tongue, literally, and capped his anger, though he felt like a shook soda. “Where can I find it?” he said as calmly as he could manage.

“Find it?” the creature cocked it’s head. “He’s right behind you.” He pointed with his half-eaten drumstick and Malcolm jumped to find a goat eye the size of baseball floating just behind his head. It blinked and disappeared from sight but Malcolm felt all the hair stand on his neck. He jumped around casting a life detecting spell but all that shimmered back were wisps and the usual denizens of the Fade.

Malcolm turned back around, his heart in his throat. “Where is it now?”

“Don’t feed it!” the spirit waved it’s hand frantically, splattering sauce.

Malcolm took a second to stop tensing, his eyes still darting around for more signs of eyes among the forest of mushrooms, but the grove stayed eerily silent. Malcolm kept clenching and unclenching his fists unsure if it was right behind him again, but a tiny voice inside him told him not to look. He ignored it, flinching as he craned his head and saw nothing, and yet it felt like something was staring, waiting. Biding its time. “That’s it,” Malcolm muttered as a chill crawled up his neck. “The next time I see that demon I’m poking out every one of it’s eyeballs.”

“Does the fact that you can’t even sense it not tell you that you’re too young? Shiny told me they had to lead you out of several traps already.”

“Shiny?”

Scholar looked exasperated, as if it was so obvious. “The wisp you sent. Though their name is Rocky now.”

Malcolm scrunched up his face. “What? Why?”

Scholar stuck his hand in his bucket to find it empty and sighed. “Because they’re wisps, of course. They’re still deciding who they are. They have to try each name before they find the one that feels just right.”

“How do you keep track?” Malcolm found himself asking, but then he shook his head realizing he was getting off track and said, “Never mind, just…how do I kill it?”

“You don’t,” Scholar answered, the bucket de-materialized and a plate of chocolate cake came next. The spirit grabbed a handful and before shoving it in his mouth said, “so, what is taste?”

Malcolm felt like he had just gone around in a big winding circle and he was absolutely winded. And then Malcolm said what he thought he would never say to a demon. “How about we make a deal?” 

The spirit jumped back and gasped, “No!,” which surprised Malcolm. “I’m no demon, and I won’t throw myself against one, especially not Zelophehad.”

He was expecting to have to clarify, but blood magic was never an option. He had seen too many good mages go down that path and meet their end, not to mention he was not looking for more reasons to be hunted by the Chantry, but as far as he knew, every demon wanted a deal.

“Actually I’m not offering my soul, more my expertise,” Malcolm said, finding his shoulders relaxing. “Do you want to know what taste is?”

That’s when he felt a smack to his face.

Malcolm jerked awake, groggy with drool dribbling down his mouth and pooling on his desk. It was still dark and he realized his teacher had dropped his test packet on him and he pulled it off, fluorescent lights spotting his vision.

A dark elf with his hair in a dreadlocked ponytail and a shadow of stubble across his jaw glared at Malcolm through his spectacles. “Class is almost over and this is blank, Messere Hawke.”

He felt an annoyed buzzing in his skull as  Scholar started pressing through the slip of the thin Veil. He tried to shoo it away but it was steadily getting louder. He also had the attention of his whole class’ eyes on him including Taylor, a somewhat friend, somewhat annoyance, who was shaking her head so much disappointment the top of her cloudy hair were almost bouncing against her pointy burnt sienna ears.

“My bad,” Malcolm shrugged. Some of his classmates snickered in their sleeves while others rolled their eyes in annoyance. He leaned on his desk, his chin propped on his hand.

The teacher snatched up the test. “Be aware, young man, you will finish this quarter final if I have to staple a pencil to your hand and make you write the words myself.”

Malcolm’s eyes glazed over as he tuned out the impending lecture that was no doubt coming. It was something about telling him how he was wasting his potential and that he would regret this later in life, the usual spiel. He winced as a familiar buzz came back into his mind. He began to see the impression of the spirit behind Enchanter Jakoby, pressing through the veil to speak with him.

  
  


_ “You say something about a taste deal and then just disappear. That’s terribly frustrating.” _

_ “Not now,” _ Malcolm responded in his head. He struggled to keep his face under control, the pressing presence on his mind unwelcome and uncomfortable.

_ “Then when?” _

_ “I’ll call you. Now scat before I get in trouble,” _ and he made an audible grunt of frustration.

“What was that?” Enchanter Jakoby snapped, thinking it was Malcolm’s usual disrespect.

The spirit blinked out of sight and Malcolm shook his head out of a daze. “I mean, uh, yeah, you’re completely right.”

The elf’s full lips pulled back into a stunning bright smile. “Excellent. I’ll see you tonight, then.”

Malcolm blinked a few times in confusion. “What?”

The class broke up in laughter, and the Enchanter quickly snapped, “back to your tests!” Then he took off his glasses and massaged his temples. “Were you even listening?”

“Sure,” Malcolm scratched his pointed ear sheepishly, “but just in case I wasn’t, where am I going?”

Enchanter Jakoby looked up and sighed. “To the ball,” he pointed to names on the board where one was crossed out that wasn’t before. “Kenny tells me he’s feeling stage fright and you just volunteered to perform in his place.”

“No, I didn’t,” Malcolm snorted scooting back in his chair. 

“Yes you did,” Enchanter Jakoby nodded, encroaching onto Malcolm’s desk so they could meet each other’s eyes.

“Well tell Kenny to suck it up cause I’m busy tonight,” Malcolm unwrinkled his test and finally wrote his name on the paper, avoiding the pile of drool.

“He’s throwing up in the healing quarters.” 

Good old Kenny. 

Malcolm ran a frustrated hand through his curls as he snapped back a growl. “C’mon you don’t want me there. I’m sure someone else wants to be a Chantry monkey.”

“For once, I agree,” a handsome nobleman with a straight nose and shapely lips glared at Malcolm. “Not about the Chantry monkey, just about him being there.” He stood up like he was the ambassador to the class and put his hand over his heart, his wavy blond shoulder length hair waving in his green eyes as pleaded with the Enchanter. “Hawke hasn’t turned in a single thing since the beginning of class and there are many others much more deserving the honor.”

Malcolm snorted. “Sure. Make sure to pack bananas.”

Arth’s eyes flashed in anger and he took a step forward with his mouth open in retort, but the Enchanter raised his hand to silence the impending argument that was bound to explode between the two men.

Arth Elliot was the Circles darling and had seen Malcolm as a rival since he first arrived and lit a flame while the Enchanter was still instructing the class on how to visualize it. Malcolm was practically juggling the flame as his other classmates quickly tried to do the same but the most any could do was a spark. Arth, who was always proud of being top of the class, could not even manage a puff of smoke. When he asked Malcolm how he did that, he said, “I just did,” and that was all it took for him to become obsessed.

Malcolm realized he was years ahead of his classmates, and eventually started hiding the full extent of his powers, but his teachers still noticed. He was always snoozing through class so there was no way he had paid attention to the lessons, and yet when his teachers would test his aptitude for magic, he never showed difficulty with any spell of any school, which baffled everyone. His teachers knew Malcolm was bored, jaded, and they couldn’t challenge him. Most of his teachers couldn’t stand him, either making sure he was unwelcome in class and while most had given up on Malcolm, spending time on more willing students, Enchanter Jakoby was persistent.

“Sit down, Messere Elliot, and wait quietly for class to finish,” the teacher said as if he was speaking to a child, and like a child, Arth jutted out his pink bottom lip in a pout and slunk back down into his seat like a whipped puppy. Enchanter Jakoby winced, holding his forehead for a second crinkling with stress wrinkles.

“Malcolm, I know you’ve been put into an unfair position. We all have, but you have to realize that you can either work with the system or the system works you. You can take this for the opportunity that it is, or squander it, like every chance you’ve ever been given and fall into further disciplinary action. It’s up to you.”

Malcolm rolled his eyes, his dark curls brushing over his forehead. “Oh, no,” Malcolm drawled sarcastically. “However will I survive being under lock and key?”

The thinning of the other elf’s full lips told Malcolm that he was successfully getting under his skin, but he softened them into a smile and said, “Don’t worry. I’m sure Ser Carver would agree to watch your manners tonight.”

At the mention of his friend, Malcolm huffed collapsing back in his chair so forcefully it gave a screeching scoot. “Playing dirty I see.”

“I’ve been at this a lot longer than you, Junior Enchanter,” the elf’s coconut brown eyes gleamed as he triumphantly smirked.

The shrill bell rang and through the speakers and everyone scrambled to take off towards the Enchanter’s desk to drop off their tests. Malcolm grabbed his unopened backpack and was about to leave when the Enchanter grabbed him by the shoulder and sat him back down. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Malcolm shot an annoyed glare up at him. “Uuuuh, to lunch?”

“You will spend your lunch here with me where you will finish your quarter final.”

“Aw, c’mon teach, I’m starving,” Malcolm whined. 

“You should have thought about that before you used today’s class as a nap session,” the teacher nodded resolutely and marched back to his desk to start correcting papers.

Taylor frowned sympathetically. “Malcolm, do you want me to pick up your lunch?” 

“Sure, Mom,” Malcolm snarked, his hands flying across the questions with renewed determination.

Taylor rolled her eyes and slung her book bag over her shoulder, Arth hovering behind her with a rather annoyed look on his face. “If you’re going to be a dick, you can get it yourself.”

“Let’s go, Taylor,” Arth offered his arm in a gesture. “You don’t need to associate with filth.”

Taylor looked at the arm and decided to move on ahead without taking it, not even bothering to address him. He flashed an icy green glare when Malcolm snorted. Then he stuck his chin in the air and squared his shoulders, marching out of the room as if nothing happened.

Malcolm finished the test in record time. The grin on Enchanter’s Jakoby’s face at Malcolm’s short but correct answers was awfully irritating, but Malcolm hid his smirk until his back was turned, knowing that he was in for another lecture when the Enchanter would inevitably get to the last question that was answered, “Templars suck Chantry dick.”

Malcolm wandered through the quarters of the Circle hall winding down the stairs to the cafeteria passing mages, who would avoid him like he was diseased, and templars, who watched his every movement like he was ready to attack. Malcolm had only assaulted a templar once and he quickly learned that this was suicide. They had too many tools, too much training, and a whole team to rely on while Malcolm only had himself. No, the only way to survive in the Circle was to find some way to make peace with it, and the only thought that gave Malcolm peace is that one day he would escape for good. 

He cut the line to the front of the cafeteria, but other than getting a few nasty glares, no one made any comment, at least in his direction. Dragging his tray across the table he picked up a wilted salad for good energy, the same stale piece of bread he had every day, and what he hoped was a mix of meat and mashed potatoes but it could be another experiment of the chef. For desert, to his surprise, were some rather nice strawberries. He hadn’t thought about the kiss all day, though it did intrude his mind like an annoying gnat buzzing in his ear. That kiss was just fantasy. Chances are the mysterious Leandra had already forgotten him in the dream fog and moved on with her perfect life while he was stuck like a scratched record skipping on the same beat. He found himself resisting the urge to touch his lips again, to close his eyes and just imagine that perfect moment but he was very aware he was in public. So instead he piled a bunch of strawberries on his plate, much more than was considered polite and eyed his best friend Charlie waving at him from the corner table with Taylor, who was eating a small salad and doing homework she was assigned in for another class.

Charlie was probably best described as a brother and not because he looked like a human version of Malcolm, except with wavy hair, slightly lighter skin, and no freckles. Charlie was two years older, but still hadn’t passed his Harrowing and, unlike Malcolm, was just about everyone’s best friend. He hadn’t a lick of talent when it came to spellcasting. He could barely light a candle, but he did have a mind for small tricks, mostly well-timed fart pranks and Malcolm constantly helped him brainstorm new ideas to help him exercise his magic. 

He was just about to reach the table when a gauntleted hand squeezed his shoulder.“Let’s talk,” a gravelly voice growled in his ear, the foul breath making his hair stand and with disciplined strength the templar walked Malcolm to a barred window overlooking the ocean, scattering the mages that were gathered around it. The templar kept hold, squeezing enough to bruise, and his cruel blood-shot grey eyes were as sharp as the stubble of his shaved head. “Where’s my order? It’s been days,” the templar whispered viciously, everyone else quickly looked away and minded their own business to avoid catching the ire.

Malcolm kept his voice just as low, lazily gazing up at the steel-clad man. “I’ve been busy.”

The man squeezed harder and Malcolm coached his face to not show any pain. “I need it, today.”

“Maybe,” Malcolm placed his hand on the man’s and with the little help of an aura, pried off the steel-clad fingers with surprising strength and shoved his hand back at the man. “I have a window tonight, but you better be sure no one comes looking.”

The man looked angry, his face reddening like it always did when his intimidation tactics didn’t work. “As long as I get what I paid for.” The man stalked away, his heavy armor thudding against the stone. The mages all kept their eyes low to not catch his gaze. With a roll of Malcolm’s shoulders he stalked back to the corner table, where both Charlie and Taylor were standing, waiting for him.

“Are you alright?” Taylor said in her usually motherly voice.

“Yes, Mom,” Malcolm rolled his eyes and collapsed in his seat spilling some food onto his tray.

Taylor mirrored the movement with her eyes, sitting down and returning her gaze back to her homework with a shake of her head.

Charlie looked cautiously at Malcolm. “You know you really should tell Carver about Matthew.”

“I don’t need Carver fighting my battles for me,” Malcolm snorted as he bit into a strawberry. It was blissfully sweet, delicious, he held it on his tongue to savor the flavor as he closed his eyes. He found himself summoning the image of Leandra’s perfect face, that gleam in her eye as she gazed up at him through her dark lashes and flashed the top of her perky peach nipples.

Suddenly a voice that was not his murmured in his head,  _ “Delicious.” _

Malcolm’s face burned as he felt his mind plundered, Scholar prying into the memory and snacking up the berry with a smack.  _ “Oooh, can you taste another?” _ Scholar asked, and Malcolm found himself banging his forehead with his fist as he tried to drive out the voice.

“I swear,” Taylor peered up from her homework with a look of mild concern. “Sometimes you go on the strangest face journeys by yourself.”

Malcolm just rolled his eyes, letting the comment slide, as he dug into his salad, letting Charlie sneak some strawberries.

“So I can’t help you practice tonight,” Malcolm looked over at Charlie. “Enchanter Jackass is stuffing me in a suit and making me do parlor tricks for some rich snobs.”

Taylor’s violet eyes snapped up, flashing in annoyance. “Enchanter  _ Jakoby _ is giving you a chance to demonstrate your abilities. I’m actually really excited about the ball. I worked really hard to earn the top spot and a lot of other people wanted to go. Do you have to be such an arrogant dick?”

Malcolm flashed a leafy smirk. “It’s my best quality.”

“Debatable,” Taylor shot back in her usual sharp manner. 

Charlie leaned in between the elves, always the mediator. “Ladies, ladies,” he waved his hands in a calming motion. “Must we fight and not appreciate a good day? I mean the food is fresh-ish,” he picked up a glob of soup that defied leaving the spoon with a unappetizing dripping gloop, “we’re among friends, mostly,” Charlie gestured away at the templars on guard like they were part of the scenery, “and even if you have to go to a party together  without me and you two somehow don’t kill each other, the least you can do is enjoy it on my behalf and give me a fun story when you get back. Please,” he added with an exhausted heaving sigh. “I’m tired of hearing about the Murphy and Mandy’s on and off again relationship.” He then stabbed his spoon in his soup which resisted somehow.

Taylor’s eyebrows knitted together as Malcolm slunk down into the table, feeling more of an ass than usual. 

“I’ll sneak you back some food,” Taylor smiled, reaching out to lightly touch his arm.

Charlie practically bounced. “Ooh, one of those frilly cakes. The more icing the better.”

“And I’ll make sure to prank some nobles,” Malcolm added with a smirk which did brighten his friend’s expression. Charlie had a way of making everyone get along by outlining everything in silver and he always thought the best way to solve his problems was to laugh at them and suddenly Malcolm’s wheels were turning. “Could use your help thinking of the worst magic show ever.”

Charlie’s brown eyes gleamed with mischief. “Endless fart stream? That’ll get them talking,” Charlie offered with a childish grin. Taylor wrinkled her flat nose in a bite.

“Nah, worse,” Malcolm scratched his chin, discarding one idea after another.

“You could do one of Darcy’s dance routines.”

Malcolm laughed at the idea. “Getting warmer, but worse.”

Taylor sighed heavily. “Can’t you just do something normal like juggle a ball of flame or make some fireworks.”

“But that’s boring,” Charlie and Malcolm said in unison and then broke down in a conspiratorial laugh. 

Malcolm chewed on his flavorless salad as he thought, Charlie chatting on until the annoying buzz came back in his mind.  _ “This food tastes sad…and also bad. Can you eat something else?” _

_ “If you keep poking around my head,”  _ Malcolm thought at the spirit with a clenched fist over his fork,  _ “I’m going to reach back through the Fade and kick your ass. Understood?” _

_ “How would you kick it? I don’t have an ass,” _ the spirit retorted. 

_ “Believe me, I’d find it,”  _ Malcolm snapped.  _ “Now go back to where you belong before you get us both in trouble.” _

Taylor snapped her fingers in his face and suddenly Malcolm was aware that both Charlie and she were waiting on a question, but he had no idea what was asked.

“Uuuuh, I spaced out,” Malcolm said like he usually did.

“Maker, can you pay attention for one second?” Taylor rolled her eyes so hard they looked like they’d fall out of her head. “I said, are you going to dance or you going to sulk in canapes all night?”

Malcolm's face twisted as if he was smelling something foul. “The point being?”

Charlie grinned at Malcolm with a teasing smirk. “That’s why you’re still a virgin, dude.”

“I have more important things to do,” Malcolm deflected as they both broke down in laughter. He then crossed his arms, scooting back in his chair with a pout.

“I wish I could go,” Charlie mention ed glumly. “If it was me, no one could stop me from finding a pretty girl and dancing all night.” Charlie looked at Taylor wistfully and then lowered his gaze before Taylor could catch him. Taylor chewed on her bottom lip at the comment, a flash of what almost looked like jealousy before she returned her attention to her homework. Then her violet eyes bugged out of their sockets as Charlie pointed between the t wo elves with his spoon. “You two could always dance.”

Malcolm barked out a surprised laugh. “Nice try, dude, but I think I’ll sleep through the whole thing.” He did have a demon to catch.

As Charlie’s best friend, he saw it as his duty to get Malcolm dating, or at least fucking, but Malcolm’s reputation and stubbornness made it difficult and Taylor was the only woman who would tolerate his presence. It didn’t help that they were both elves, so somehow that meant they were supposed to be together, but their relationship was nothing like that. They were friendly-ish, but their personalities clashed way too much for attraction to even be on the table. Still, that didn’t help Charlie’s fixation on the idea.

“I think I’ll be busy stuffing myself silly with shrimp puffs. I plan to save room for two tray fulls,” Taylor pointed to her own small salad that was already finished and set aside.

_ “Shrimp puffs?” _ Malcolm could feel his mouth water with the spirit’s impending presence. _ “What are those? Her memories smell divine.” _

_ “Get out of my friend’s head,” _ Malcolm warned with a tapping finger. He could see the impression of it hovering near her pointed ear.  _ “You’ll have plenty of samples to try at that stupid party tonight.” _

_ “Is that when you’ll tell me what taste is?” _ the spirit asked impatiently, snapping back his hand like it was slapped. 

_ “Sure. Whatever.” _ This time he felt the presence fade back into the Veil, the pressure from the Fade lessening.

Taylor and Charlie stared at Malcolm’s scowling face softening as he blinked back into attention.

Taylor shook her head again, her hair puff bobbing. “Again. Weirdest face journeys.”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are some headshots with my favorite quotes of Charlie, Taylor, and Enchanter Jakoby respectively. If there's a particular character you want to see let me know <3.


	4. The Dance That Changed Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Betrothal Ball is here. Leandra just needs to play her part, but when she realized the man of her dreams has been invited and is determined to sweep her off her feet, can she remember her lines, or will she go off-script with Malcolm and her heart?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being so large I had to break it into 2 chapters. I didn't realize it was that long when I was first drafting but I did have to add a few scenes in for the demon plot.  
> Here is also Leandra in her betrothal ball dress.

“Is it too late to cancel?” Leandra looked at a face that barely looked like hers staring back through her vanity mirror as Mara tied her hair in a long flowing braid. The dress fit perfectly to every measured curve and spilled onto the floor in a pleat of red layered cloth, too constricting and snug, like the cage Leandra had been put in.

Mara had some bobby pins stuffed in her mouth as she secured Leandra’s flowing locks into the complicated hairstyle, but she paused to look at Leandra in the mirror and took them out to say. “It’s never too late.”

The thought fluttered in her mind like a butterfly about to take flight but she captured it in her hands and crushed it. “No, I’m being silly,” Leandra almost shook her head before she was reminded it was full of pins.

“Well,” Mara tutted as she wove more hair, “don’t say I never tried to talk sense into you.”

Before Leandra could ask her what that meant, her mother barged into the door, her face contorted in rage. “Why isn’t she ready, you lazy girl?”

“She’s almost, Messere,” Mara kept her eyes on her work, her voice measured in patience.

“Mother,” Leandra said in a warning voice, her eyes glued to her mirror to not ruin Mara’s hard work, “we’d be ready faster with fewer interruptions,” but her mother kept a level glare at Mara as if she was a stray cat that was brought into her home and scratching up her furniture. Mara paid no mind, humming to herself as she continued to plait Leandra’s hair.

“Have her ready in 5 minutes! Luna De Luca is ready for the interview and I need her to be perfect.”

There was that word again. Perfect. The perfect lady, daughter, scholar, musician, hostess, wife. The list of things Leandra had to be perfect at was longer than her dress. In less than five minutes she would meet Guillaume and they would talk about their love together. Leandra felt like she was running through her lines as if she were in a play, remembering the right times to laugh, to remember to bring the crinkle in her eyes to make her smile seem more genuine. She would have to part from Mara for the interview but she could return to her side for a little while until she accompanied Guillaume to the feast and she found herself counting down the seconds when she’d be reunited again. But then she thought of her brother and Mara, and how eventually things would all change like they were changing now, and Leandra found that time was slipping through her fingers like sand.

“Mother,” Leandra brought a practiced smile to her lips offering peace. “Everything will be fine. I’ll be down very soon.”

Her mother tucked up her chin, satisfied, and then carefully closed the door.

“At least you don’t have to eat with her tonight,” Mara broke the silence.

Leandra laughed in relief. “Soon dinner will be just a day I schedule on my calendar.” A silver lining, if nothing else.

Mara finished her braid and tied it expertly with a ribbon and then placed both of her hands on Leandra’s puffy shoulders. “No matter what happens, I got your back.” She squeezed comfortingly, Leandra’s tight shoulders relaxing. “You leave Guillaume at the altar, I’ve got a bottle of champagne waiting.”

Mara always knew what to say and it took all of Leandra’s power to not tear up and smudge her eye makeup. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“The night’s still young,” Mara shrugged. “Maybe you find an elf side piece, instead.”

Leandra laughed in surprise before she caught herself and covered her mouth. “Mara,” she shook her head.

Mara smiled and took her hand, helping her up so her skirt stayed smooth. Leandra took a deep breath. Her costume was on, she just needed to play her part well, but she found herself reluctant to let go of Mara’s hand as her nerves started to get to her. 

“You look beautiful,” Mara smiled sadly.

Leandra’s eyes swept over her straightened hair and down Mara’s red cocktail dress that was simple but she looked just as radiant. “So do you.”

“You save that flirting for your fiance,” Mara chuckled, squeezing her hand.

“Right,” Leandra said in clipped words. “You’re right behind me?”

Mara smiled her signature grin. “Always.”

  
  
  
  


Malcolm snored into the stretched dining table in the corner of the Viscount’s palace where the mages were usually seated. His mind fumbled through the Fade as he plucked random strings for the terror demon’s presence. Unsurprisingly, nothing useful echoed back. Little curious wisps were starting to crowd him as he worked, speaking amongst themselves in a chatter too quick to be understood as a wet smacking sound filled the Fade air.

He agreed to one memory, the one with his mother that was already taken, but thankfully the spirit was already greedy for another helping and he was slurping bowl after bowl of noodles as Malcolm worked.

“So you say taste is a sensation of the organ called a” sluurp, “tongue and that sensation can cause you to feel emotions good or bad?” Scholar scooped up a pile of heaping noodles with a slurping smack. 

“That’s right,” Malcolm said with gritted teeth as he counted his breaths so they were even and shallow. He plucked the Fade string, listening. “That’s all it is. Now, will you give me a hand?”

The spirit waved its arm splattering sauce and one of the wisps turned into a grasping phantom hand, offering its help with wriggling fingers.

Malcolm sighed. “Finding this terror demon is going to take a while.”

The wisps gasped and blinked out of sight, the hand trembling and fading from view. The spirit placed the noodles back in their bowl as if they were suddenly unappetizing. “You’ll summon it thinking like that.”

Malcolm perked up. Finally, he was getting somewhere. “Is that how I find it? I summon it to me?”

“You don’t want to catch one of its eyes,” the Scholar spoke in a hushed whisper. “You must clear your thoughts so it does not find a crack to hide in.”

Malcolm shook off the worry. “Not unlike any other demon.”

“Zelophehad is not just any demon,” the Scholar hissed. “He is part of the essence of reality. Where fear lives he rises.”

A beat of worry washed through Malcolm at the finality of what Scholar seemed to be saying, but Malcolm clenched down his nerves. “Every demon has a weakness.”

“Zelophehad has none,” the spirit snapped. “So stop these silly notions of getting yourself killed and answer my next question. What is a tongue? I don’t have one.”

Malcolm sighed in disbelief and turned back around. ”I need to get back to work.”

“What work is that?”

“Am I talking to a broken record?” Malcolm found the irritation crawling up his spine. “If I’m going to find the fucking thing, I need a lead, a trail, a hole, something!”

“Why don’t you just ask?” the spirit cocked his head, tentatively slurping on one noodle.

If Malcolm could have gotten away with strangling the spirit he would. He snapped his golden eyes up in annoyance. “Haven’t I been asking?”

“Why would you ask me? I’m not the one who has the knowledge you’re seeking.” The spirit tipped the bowl back, gobbling up a huge bite.

Malcolm looked at the spirit, a clue clicking into place. “Who would I ask?”

The spirit pointed down next to Malcolm’s foot with a wet finger. “This pebble has been saying it was stepped on by Zelophehad.”

Malcolm cocked his head curiously at the pebble, picked it up, and brought it to his ear.

The voice was not a voice, more of a feeling. The thoughts of the spirit were too foreign to seem like words but Malcolm felt a sensation of dread that locked in his bones as the creature caressed the pebble, how it did all it could to maintain its shape as the demon studied it with one of its many eyes, and how Zelophehad slipped by not noticing it like most of the demons of the Fade. It had been there recently. The emotion was fresh and he found a chip of fear seeding inside him. Was the creature watching again?

“Don’t feed it!” Scholar hissed his warning again. “He’s probably listening for his name.”

“I don’t understand. Where is it?” 

The pebble’s answer was empty. The spirit slurped a wet unending noodle. “I guess that’s all it had to say.”

Malcolm found himself irritated and flung the pebble off in the distance so it skipped against the ground with a soft clatter. “How is that supposed to help me?”

“You are a very stupid creature,” the spirit shook his head. “It’s like you don’t hear what anyone’s saying.”

That’s when a jab to Malcolm’s side plummeted his soul back into his body.

Malcolm jerked awake, Taylor’s full lips pursed in annoyance as she glared at Malcolm. “The Lord and Lady are about to be introduced and your snore was echoing through the chamber.”

Malcolm yawned and sleepily laid down his head in his arms. “Wake me up when it’s my turn.”

A strong hand jerked Malcolm to the back of his seat and Malcolm looked up and glared, a set of warm twinkling brown eyes against dark umber skin stared down at him placing a plate of sweet distractions in front of him. “You’re probably just grumpy cause you’re hungry,” the templar’s ceremonial armor gleamed in the traditional candlelight, making him look twice the size that he was. 

Malcolm didn’t wait to dig into the pile of assorted sweets cakes, finding that Scholar was already sniffing. “Well, I’m not going to say no to free food,” he said with his mouth already stuffed. He could feel Scholar’s satisfied hum at the back of his mind as he ate.

Taylor flickered her eyes up to Carver in gratitude as she reached over to pick at Malcolm’s pile of sweets. “You’re a saint, Ser Maurevar.”

Carver wrinkled up his nose at his first name. “How many times do I have to tell you, Taylor. Just call me Carver.”

Taylor wiped her mouth of icing, bowing her head in apology too quickly. “Forgive me. I forget.”

Taylor had a healthy respect for templars, or maybe fear was the better word, but Carver and Malcolm had been friends since Malcolm was a boy and she knew that Carver was different. Maurevar Carver was the fifth son from a line of loyal nobles in Kirkwall, but he had not a hint of arrogance. Carver was well-liked even among mages. His family came from a line of templars which would make one think Carver would be rather conservative, but he had idealistic ideas of what it meant to be a protector of mages and beacon against the dangers of magic. While most templar children learned prejudice very young, Carver found himself talking to the mages, getting to know their anxieties and fears, and thought it his duty to make the transition into the Circle as easy for each mage as possible.

After a string of escape attempts in Ferelden’s Circle, the Chantry deemed Malcolm too dangerous and they shipped him to Kirkwall where he didn’t know the culture, had a funny accent and knew no one close enough to escape. Malcolm had given up any notion of freedom for a long time and receded into himself, talking to no one, and only sleeping. Carver sat with him every day in silence as he meditated, ignoring Malcolm’s barbs until Carver replied to a quip that made Malcolm laugh. Malcolm still didn’t trust him, until he took the blame for a punch that Malcolm threw at a templar bully before Malcolm knew how to corral his Ferelden temper. Matthew swore up and down that it was Malcolm who threw the punch but Carver claimed that it was Matthew’s cowardice choosing an easier target than a noble’s son. It was one word against another and the matter was quickly swept under the rug. Malcolm was blown away, unsure why Carver would turn against his templar brother, but Carver told Malcolm he didn’t do it for him. He had been planning to punch Matthew for a long time, and Malcolm was only kind enough to let him take credit. 

When the Knight Commander realized that Carver could corral Malcolm somewhat, the two were forced together, Carver Malcolm’s keeper, albeit a very lax one. In fact, it wasn’t abnormal for Carver to look the other way so Malcolm could sometimes slip into Kirkwall just for a taste of what the city was like. Malcolm remembered his first time as a young teenager getting lost in the crowd in a Lowtown market, how he was just another face in the sea of traffic, how he didn’t watch over his shoulder like he was a bomb waiting to explode. He remembered how nervous he was in Carver’s borrowed clothes, way too big for him so he had to roll up the sleeves and legs to accommodate. He ate street food with his pickpocketed change, dropped bread crumbs off the docks and into the ocean for fish to gobble up, got splashed by a taxi cab, and was yelled at by some half-clothed sex workers when he accidentally walked into a brothel. He was completely out of his element and yet when he snuck back in through the secret passage that connected Kirkwall’s Circle to the mainland, he ached what most people took for granted. A family. A job. The freedom to walk the streets. A place in society.

He would have to convince Carver to let him out sometime tonight, though he had no idea how he was going to do it, yet. But he knew Carver wasn’t the type of soul to let him suffer and maybe with some puppy eyes and some undignified whining Carver would cave and let him go to a real party tonight. Carver might even finally take the stick out of his ass and join him.

The screens embedded on the tables started up in a projection of light as it displayed a flamboyantly dressed red-haired noble who was so thin the wind looked like it could blow him away from the balcony he was broadcasting from. He waved to the crowd of waiting faces and they all rose except for Malcolm who propped his head in hand bored, as he munched on his sweetcakes. The noble’s pale skin was crisp on the projection, his full groomed beard and mustache like a silky animal had taken hold of his face.

“Good Ladies and Lords of Kirkwall!” his voice echoed out on the speakers so he seemed to come from everywhere. “It is my pride and duty to announce the joining of my own house and that of the esteemed Amell’s, who has been an anchor in Kirkwall since Garahel beat back the Blight.” He puffed up his chest proudly, placing a delicate hand over his heart. “My own esteemed house has both roots in Kirkwall and Orlais…”

Malcolm rolled his eyes as the Lord droned on about his family’s history. “Yeah, yeah. I need a house the size of my ego and servants to wipe my ass.”

Taylor and the other mages shushed him harshly while Carver shook his head in a chuckle.

Malcolm shoved the sweets aside to Taylor and collapsed his head back down on the table with an exaggerated yawn as the noble droned on. He figured he could at least sleep through the speeches, but two fingers pinched his ear and yanked him up to his feet. He found Enchanter Jakoby glaring in warning to pay attention with the silent gesture of his fingers and Malcolm sulked in place.

A couple in matching lavish red and gold outfits joined either side of Lord de Lancet. “We are blessed with the fact that this is not just a fortunate match for our families, but a love match as well, and we wish to share in the bounty of the Maker’s blessing with you all tonight.”

The woman stepped forward with a smile of pure confidence as she gazed over the crowd as if she was among friends. “Please allow me to thank you all to celebrate my engagement, tonight.”

Malcolm’s ears twitched as his eyes shot up to the screen in recognition of the woman’s voice. His heart sped up at the sound, his eyes widening as her stunning smile stared back at him from the screen. His jaw grew slack as he stared at her, not quite comprehending that she was really in front of him, but his heart soon twisted in jealousy as he saw her fingers intertwined with a handsome red-headed man with a ridiculously large handlebar mustache.

“She certainly didn’t act engaged,” Malcolm blurted out before he could stop himself, earning confused stares from the other mages at the table.

“You know her?” Taylor asked with a thin raised eyebrow.

“No, he doesn’t,” Arth snarled quickly.

“Enchanters, hush,” the teacher whispered in a warning. 

Malcolm quickly held his head, ignoring the rest of his welcome speech as he realized in a panic that the show that he planned to embarrass Enchanter Jakoby tonight was not going to work. He leaned over to Taylor, his eyes wide in panic as he whispered. “Taylor, give me some ideas. Something cooler than fireworks or juggling fire.” One of the other mages shot him a glare. 

Taylor’s lips pulled into a satisfied smirk. “It’s not my fault you spent the evening making stupid puns to go with card tricks.” It was Malcolm’s idea that now didn’t seem that brilliant. He knew that Enchanter Jakoby wanted him to blow everyone away with a display of his powers so he couldn’t think of anything more embarrassing than fumbling through normal stupid card tricks that he could barely pull off. But now he was staring at perhaps the only girl he had ever wanted to impress and his panicked mind was drawing blanks.

“And now to bless our union the Circle has sent its finest enchanters to entertain us with a magical display,” Leandra turned and motioned gracefully down to the mage’s table as she rehearsed, the cameras turned to superimpose the enchanters who all puffed up their chests in their dress clothes except for Malcolm who was holding his head in panic. Leandra’s eyes slid across the mages with a serene smile until her eyes landed on Malcolm and her face suddenly went red. Her voice suddenly seemed caught in her throat, the palace echoing in silence as they watched Malcolm mutter to himself.

“Um…” Leandra suddenly couldn’t remember the words of her speech as Malcolm noticed the silence dragging on and he looked up to see her staring down at him from the balcony as if she couldn’t believe he was real. The silence was growing uncomfortable as they stared at each other across the room and soon Guillaume stepped forward to pick up the speech.

“Please do not let us keep you waiting much longer. I’m sure you’re all starving,” the crowd chuckled at Guillaume’s natural charisma and Malcolm found irritation creeping up his spine as they briefly met eyes as the lord passed over each mage in an inspection. “We cannot wait to see the performances you have all prepared for us tonight. Do be seated and enjoy the meals our families finest chefs have prepared.”

As a chorus of shuffling seats adjusting to people’s weight, Taylor leaned over to Malcolm with curiosity, finding a soft satisfied smile on his lips. “She seemed to recognize you.”

“She did, didn’t she?” Malcolm couldn’t help but feel like his heart was soaring with what could only be described as hope.

Taylor looked like she wanted to ask more but she didn’t get the chance before Enchanter Jakoby was motioning for her to come to the dance floor to begin her performance. She fluffed her hair, in a twisted half-do, and adjusted her dress, the cut, and design marking her as a mage saying, “Well I guess I have to show why I’m the top of the class.”

“Only cause I don’t give a shit,” Malcolm snarked but Taylor relaxed her shoulders as Carver handed her a staff. Arth’s glare could set Malcolm’s hair aflame.

“You’re going to do wonderfully,” Carver smiled brightly, his soft dark bangs falling out of his ponytail.

Taylor ducked her head, a small satisfied smile settled on her lips as she took the staff and balanced it in her hands.

Then the lights dimmed on the ballroom floor as Taylor stepped out onto it holding out her staff level and with an expert grip. She stared up onto the main balcony where the main couple was on display. “Lady Amell, Lord Du Lancet,” her voice was not a shout but it boomed across the ballroom. She bowed her head so her fluffy hair bobbed. “Allow me to show you the wonders of the Fade.”

She waved her staff opening a giant portal in the middle of the ballroom, a shimmering green hue cloaked the room with light, and in the center of a mist showed in the distance the far off gates of the Black City. The nobles chattered as Enchanter Jakoby puffed up in pride. Even Malcolm widened his eyes at the sight, impressed she managed to pull off such a feat. “Fear not,” her voice echoed. “This is just a window into the Fade, not a true portal. You are all perfectly safe.”

The nobles all whispered amongst each other as wisps and spirits peeked through the curious portal making more faint of heart to gasp if one ventured too close. Malcolm felt for a moment a pang of unease as his mind continued to draw blanks. His competitors had all had a whole month to prepare and he had had an evening to which he had successfully wasted. Still, he could do better than some window. He just wasn’t sure what that was yet.

As the portal closed and the lights in the room turned to normal, Taylor bowed, carefully returned her staff to Carver, and then returned to the table with a rather smug smirk. “Think you can beat that, losers?”

Arth met her smug grin with one of his own, clutching a terracotta planter filled with soil. “Don’t worry. I’ll remind everyone of class.”

Taylor rolled her eyes, slinking down in her seat to find Malcolm still staring at Leandra, who seemed to be glancing back at him every few seconds. Taylor looked between the two of them in open confusion. “So I noticed the whole time I was casting she seemed keener to pay attention to you. Mind telling me how you know each other?”

Malcolm couldn’t keep the grin off of his face, but he shrugged off Taylor’s question as nonchalantly as he could. “It’s not that interesting of a story.”

Taylor shook her head, narrowing her eyes in disbelief. “Well, I wouldn’t worry too much. I’m sure she’s already sick of you.”

  
  
  
  


_ Am I hallucinating?  _ Leandra tried to pay attention to the next mage who had dragged a pot to the middle of the dance floor and was trying to grow a seed into a tree, but her attention was much more focused on the elven mage seated far behind him. It didn’t help that growing a seed was a slow and dull process of just watching streams of green light glow into the pot. The little seed seemed to resist the magic, and for a long time, nothing happened until a little string of green poked out of the bud, fighting every spurt with an agonizingly slow wiggle. Leandra found her eyes sliding away from the show and back to the impossible dream man. She couldn’t mistake him for anyone else. He had the same messy curls, dark freckled skin, and even from the distance, his bright golden eyes flashed with the same mischief. But how was he even here? Her mind had made him up? Didn’t she?

After ten minutes and the sprout was only a few inches long, Leandra found a yawn caught in her throat that she caught with her hand. Her eyes flung in alarm to Guillaume who was thankfully more interested in his dish of lobster. 

Leandra tried her best to calm herself down, and focus on the show. The mage’s blond bangs were starting to stick to his forehead in exertion, his hold on his staff shaky, but the little sapling stayed depressingly small.  _ Pay attention, _ she kept scolding herself, but her eyes kept betraying her, sliding away from the man’s performance to meet the elf’s golden eyes. He smiled, noticing that she was staring again, and winked.

She blushed, mortified at having been caught, and dropped her eyes back to her lobster that had been barely touched. Suddenly she felt a hand cover her clenched fork. She looked up to meet Guillaume’s kind brown eyes. “Are you alright, dear?”

Leandra’s throat tightened, ashamed that she had been shamelessly ogling another man when her fiance was eating right beside her. “I’m perfect,” she flashed a smile that was strained but Guillaume didn’t seem to notice at all.

He squeezed her hand in a friendly gesture. “I’ve been counting down the days for this,” he said as leaned over to kiss her chastely on the cheek.

Leandra stiffened at the gesture, but accepted it, not able to resist comparing how she was feeling now to the kiss she experienced with that mysterious man sitting in the audience. But that couldn’t have been real. She scolded herself for getting her feelings in shambles over an event that didn’t happen and held onto Guillaume’s hand.

Guillaume’s eyes spelled mischief tonight. “Why don’t you and I get lost during the dance?” Leandra found herself coaching her smile, but her stomach was dropping as he bent over to whisper in her ear, “I’ve packed a wonderful spread on my yacht, all your favorites. We can watch the moon on the ocean and celebrate tonight.”

Leandra found herself panicking at the implication of the word celebrate. She had let Guillaume assume that she would listen to her parents and wait until marriage, but she also hadn’t told him that his feelings weren’t mutual. Or maybe they were and she was just confused. Leandra was quickly becoming aware that her smile was growing unnatural and that she was expected to say something, but the warring parts of her mind could not come up with a coherent response that would please Guillaume and get her out of this. “That’s…” she paused, trying to find an eloquent phrase, but instead she ended with, “nice.”

Guillaume laughed, patting her hand. “And they say you’re the conversationalist.”

Leandra stuffed a bite of lobster into her mouth to avoid having to say more. Guillaume this time seemed to notice her hesitation. “You don’t have to be so nervous that things are changing. The way we’re great together, that will never change.”

An array of polite claps burst around her saved her from her answer and she eagerly joined in to see the blond mage dragging a meager sapling the size of a shrub off the ballroom floor with some difficulty.

That’s when the dream man sauntered past him to the middle of the dance floor, staring at her like she was the only thing that existed. He held no staff in his hands, but he walked with a confidence that told everyone he didn’t need it. He kept his gaze on her as he placed a hand over his chest, his curls falling into his golden eyes as he bowed slightly. “Leandra Amell, a gift to bless your union.” He cupped his hands and a ball of flame danced in his hands, orange and bright, bathing his skin in amber. He smirked, his voice taking on an almost sarcastic tone as he said, “May your love burn ever brighter.”

Suddenly the flames shot up to the ceiling seeming to take a life of their own. Everyone gasped as two giant wings spread across the dance floor bringing with it a heat that burst across the palace. A giant bird formed in the flames, with a craning neck and huge eagle-like wings. It soared around the ceiling in a lazy circle, leaving in its wake an aura of stars that streaked from its streaming tail. The bird’s wings flapped mightily, leaving gusts of heated wind as it flew up to the balcony to meet Leandra. Her eyes widened, reflecting the bright light of the flames as the bird circled her, leaving twinkling dust of starlight snowing down. Leandra’s eyes sparkled, standing up to reach up to the specks of light that danced around her, begging her to reach out and touch. She couldn’t resist reaching out to see what the magic felt like for herself. Something inside her recognized the scent of it, the feel of it, the caress of it. The light popped against her skin and fingertips, blooms of roses of all colors blossoming where they landed. Leandra cupped her hands to find a bouquet made of unheated firelight had gathered, dancing around her fingertips. On instinct, she brought them to her nose to inhale, and the bouquet dispersed into a cluster of butterflies taking with them the scent of thick rain. She followed the butterflies back up to the phoenix which had perched near her, its heat like a furnace as it stared at her with molten eyes. The creature blinked and then took off back towards the ceiling, crashing against it into a display of fireworks that rained down all around the audience. As everyone stared at the show above Leandra stared back down at the man bathed in sparks staring back with a yearning so deep it left her breathless.

“Malcolm,” she whispered, his name echoing from somewhere deep inside her.

“Well done, Ser!” Guillaume joined Leandra on his feet as he led the audience in a wild burst of applause.

Leandra’s eyes were wide, her face flushed as she stared back down at the impossible man with the impossible magic. He smirked at her as if he had already figured her out, but she felt she was clueless. Her logical side told her there was no way they could have met before now, that dreams are just dreams and yet his face looked like comfort, like home and his lips-

A hand squeezing hers reminded her of who she belonged to and her face burned as she guiltily looked up at Guillaume who seemed to be beaming from the show. “Wasn’t that wonderful, Leandra?”

“Truly breathtaking,” Leandra found herself saying. Though she should have been looking at her fiance’ she found her eyes shooting back towards Malcolm who was staring at Guillaume and her intertwined fingers with hard eyes and a clenched jaw. Somehow she felt like she had been caught cheating and she dropped Guillaume’s hand without thinking, but Guillaume was busy applauding and joining in the crowd’s cheer for an encore. Malcolm ignored the call of the crowd, only winking at Leandra before he returned back to the table with his fellow mages and took his seat, his eyes never seeming to leave her.

The rest of the performances seemed so much duller in comparison. One of the mages summoned a storm cloud that made an awful mess of snow on the dance floor and required some cleanup before the other mage could juggle his ball of flame. The man himself had quite a talent of making the flame dance, but even as he threw the flame up into the air to turn it into a display of fireworks it didn’t quite leave as big of an impression as the live dancing phoenix that left a trail of starlight. It was so difficult to pay attention, especially when Malcolm seemed eager to keep it. She found her careful smile almost melt into inopportune giggles at his exceedingly goofy faces.

Then it was finally time for Guillaume to lead her on the dance floor for the first dance. She found herself coaching herself through the steps as she struggled to keep up her smile in Guillaume’s arms. She was keenly aware that a pair of golden eyes were watching her with the rest of the audience, and every time she accidentally met them she’d find herself breathless all over again. She felt dizzy with the confusion and had to excuse herself after the dance ended. Guillaume, ever the gentleman, went to fetch some lemon water as Leandra waited by her parents and the Du Lancets, trying to outbrag each other on how much they spent on the ball. That’s when Mara showed up, dragging a reluctant Gamlen on her arm.

Leandra smiled brightly as she noticed that Mara and Gamlen wore matching outfits of royal red, Gamlen in a fitted suit that made his shoulders look broader than they were, and Mara in her cocktail dress. Leandra’s noble friend’s raised their eyebrows in interest at the outfits but in respect for Leandra said nothing to Mara as she approached, but it didn’t take long for Leandra’s parents to stare pointedly at the way Gamlen and Mara were openly holding hands.

“Congratulations!” Mara threw one of her arms around Leandra, not caring at the pointed way people were staring and Leandra returned the hug gracious, thankful even to have Mara there. Mara pulled away with a teasing smirk. “Should I get you a drink or is that too soon?”

“Lord Du Lancet is already fetching the lady a drink,” Dulci Du Mortain, one of Leandra’s Orlesian friends piped up, looking down at Mara through her nose as if Mara had a ghastly stain on her dress.

“Well good thing his lordship’s not so lazy to always fetch the servants to do it,” Mara laughed easily to which Leandra joined in until she realized her noble friends nor Gamlen were laughing.

Lady Crawford, one of Leandra’s more conservative friends sniffed sharply, suppressing the glare in her light blue eyes with some difficulty. Her thin brown eyebrows knitted together in what could be a frown if one were rude enough to point it out. “Is it not an honor to serve your betters?”

Mara bit down a laugh and what she wanted to say when Leandra’s pleading eyes asked her not to make more trouble which only made Lady Crawford’s face redden under her makeup.

“What Mara means to say is while it is always an honor to serve the Great Houses, self-sufficiency can be an admirable trait.” Leandra smiled brightly, hoping the olive branch would be enough to keep the peace.

Gamlen snorted to which Mara grinned wider and Leandra shot them both a glare.

Lady Crawford thinned her smile at Leandra and then glanced at Lady Dulci and the others with a wry chuckle. “Diplomatically put, dear.”

Leandra swallowed down the internal sigh that was fighting in her throat. She didn’t need another petty battle with Lady Crawford or any of her noble friends, especially since these ladies were all expected to be her bridesmaids together. Mara had gotten the coveted spot of maid of honor, to which Leandra quickly realized her other friends hadn’t quite forgiven her for, but rather than take their grievances up with Leandra, they sniped at Mara, hoping that perhaps eventually her parents would step in and force the matter. 

Mara, however, was understandably just as petty. She openly leaned on Leandra’s arm, daring the other ladies to say something about it. “Leandra, I hate to be rude, but I have some major maid of honor details for your ears only.”

Leandra’s eyes darted to Lady Crawford, Lady Du Mortain, and the others who exchanged jealous glares. Lady Du Mortain put a hand over her mouth, averting her eyes with a reddening face. “Is his Lordship not entitled to the lady’s time tonight?”

Leandra’s throat tightened, feeling trapped by the expectations that were set.

“I believe his lordship can speak for himself,” Guillaume said from behind them all the authority he could muster. They all turned as he took Leandra’s other side offering a glass of water with a kind smile to which she quickly used to unstick her throat. “I wish no more of the lady’s time than she wishes to give to me. If her attention is needed elsewhere, I cannot be so selfish as to monopolize her.”

The other ladies swooned at Guillaume’s words, Lady Dulci fanning herself. She knew the kiss would come next so Leandra leaned in offering her cheek to accept the gesture. As Guillaume’s warm lips and scruffy mustache grazed her skin she withheld a shudder, her gaze wandering until it was pulled up into an alcove where Malcolm was perched. Her cheeks flooded as Malcolm’s eyes darkened at Guillaume kissing her, and he crooked a finger in a motion for her to follow him. She found her eyes being glued to his back as he disappeared off onto a dark balcony, far above the crowd gathered on the dance floor below.

Leandra passed her water to a passing server and grabbed Mara’s hand. “Thank you everyone but I believe I do have some maid of honor business to discuss.”

Mara was halfway pulling Leandra away when two figures stopped them. Both of Leandra’s parents were glaring at Mara with a fury that Leandra had never seen before. “Leandra,” her mother tapped her heel. “Can this business not wait until tomorrow? You’re expected on the dance floor.”

Guillaume stepped forward with an easy smile. “It is no problem, my Lord and Lady. Please allow Leandra this privacy.”

Leandra shot a grateful smile to Guillaume as both of her parents seemed to struggle with this new playbook. Finally, her mother nodded and said, “But please do remember to behave. There are cameras everywhere.” She pointedly looked at Mara as she said this and then turned her glare at Gamlen. “And do we have something to talk about, young man?” Her mother was pointedly staring between Mara and Gamlen’s matching outfits.

Gamlen swallowed what looked like fear and he stepped forward. “Mom? Dad? Can we talk somewhere private?”

Leandra’s friends were suddenly whispering amongst themselves in a renewed interest. Her parents seemed to notice the gossip that was already started to spread and was already marching Gamlen somewhere else, most likely somewhere sound-proof. Mara and Leandra quickly ditched the whispering crowd, Leandra cringing that her family was once again the subject for gossip tonight. It would have always been, but she was quickly getting a headache thinking about all of the thinly veiled insults she would have to wade through tonight about Gamlen and Mara’s obvious public stance. Leandra told herself it was just gossip and that a few snide comments were nothing to get emotional over, but she felt a knot quickly forming in her gut as she thought of the social dragging that she was surely in for.

She was busy wondering what Guillaume’s stance would be on Mara and Gamlen’s relationship when Mara pulled her over to a dark corner and immediately clonked Leandra on the head with her next question. “So who is that hunky elf that keeps undressing you with his eyes?”

Leandra’s face burned at the question, not able to meet Mara’s scrutinizing gaze but this she could answer honestly. “I don’t know.”

“You so do know him!” Mara argued, giving her a playful push. “That magic show was something else and you can hardly keep your eyes off him. Seriously, school girl vibes. So just tell me the juicy details already! Don’t make me drag it out of you.”

“I didn’t- I mean I did, but it wasn’t real, but-” Leandra buried her face in her hands. Still, if Mara noticed her ogling Malcolm, then who else did? “This is all impossible!”

“What is?” Mara pulled Leandra’s hands away from her face so she could look straight into her eyes.

Leandra found that being stared at so closely by Mara was making it difficult to think clearly. She felt mad telling the truth but she always told Mara the truth so she finally dared to say it aloud. “He’s the same man I kissed in that dream, but he’s real somehow and I think I’m going crazy.”

She thought Mara would laugh at her but instead, Mara opened her mouth and closed it. “Like one of Andraste’s prophecies?”

Leandra tilted her head at her friend, somewhat grateful to be believed but also not sure what that would even mean. “You think this is what it is?”

Mara cupped Leandra’s cheeks, staring at her with a seriousness that was hardly like her. “If the Maker is sending you visions about that man, don’t you think you should at least meet him?”

Leandra laughed like it was a joke until she realized Mara was serious. And then her voice took on a high pitched tone as she quickly spiraled into a panic about what that could mean. “I’m engaged! This is my betrothal ball! I can’t!”

“You’re right,” Mara said with an annoyed frown. “Your parents are obviously of higher authority than the Maker.”

Leandra froze at this new thought. Was this truly the Maker’s hand guiding her? Would she always regret not taking this chance?

Before Mara could calm Leandra’s brand new panic, she tapped Leandra and pointed to a tall brown templar with a silky ponytail approaching them both with intent. Leandra recognized him immediately as Knight-Captain Maurevar Carver, though she had only recognized him from newspaper clippings and his family’s reputation. Though he was wearing heavy templar armor, he held himself with a nobleman’s grace. He bowed deeply in respect, his eyes full of apology.

“Pardon me if this is a bad time. I mean to only offer my sincere congratulations.”

Leandra smiled and curtsied politely. “My deepest thanks, Lord Carver.” The Carvers were a house of good reputation that her family had always done their best to keep on good terms with though from what she knew of Maurevar himself was surprisingly little. There were rumors about him being at odds with his family but if true, they put up very good appearances.

“May I have the honor of shaking your hand, my lady?” Carver bowed humbly, offering a downturned palm.

Leandra offered her hand, finding nothing odd about the gesture until she felt a small scrap of paper being slipped in her hand.

The templar bowed his head and smiled with mischief, but said nothing else but, “Thank you for your time, my lady. Good night.”

“What was that about?” Mara stared off at the templar in confusion as Leandra unfolded the scrap of paper with haste.

On what was no doubt a piece of stationery stolen from the Viscount’s office in sloppy scrawl wrote, “Why be bored over there when you can have fun dancing with me?”

She had no doubt who this was from and from the gleam in Mara’s eyes she didn’t need briefing either. “You’re so going!”

Leandra gaped at her friend as if she was growing a new head. “How would I manage that? With my parents and Guillaume, there’s no way I can escape for more than a dance.”

Mara’s cat eyes gleamed as she shrugged. “So you disappear for just one dance? I’ll cover for you. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Leandra didn’t want to give voice to that line of thought, the much more alluring idea of a chance to speak with the man that had plagued most of her waking thoughts too tempting to be denied. “I’ll go,” Leandra said before she could change her mind, but she quickly raised a finger to clarify, “but only to tell him nothing can happen.”

The way Mara smiled told Leandra that she wasn’t quite as believable as she sounded. Still, she had to convince herself at least.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ “You barely tasted anything tonight,” _ the pesky demon floated in Malcolm’s vision.

That wasn’t true. Malcolm was more than full, not only having had a scrumptious dinner of fresh lobster but he had grabbed at least one sample from every type of tray, but still, the gluttonous demon was not happy. 

Malcolm stared off into the lit maze garden that overtook the city block, a silly thing to have in a place with as little space as Kirkwall, and yet Malcolm couldn’t find it in him to complain. The demon hunt had been put far out of his mind, his only thought was if Leandra was coming. 

Did she remember the dream? Was she staring for a different reason? Or was she just pulled to him the same way he felt pulled to her? Malcolm leaned over the edge, peering into the garden below and enjoying the feeling of vertigo rush to his head, whatever it took to remind him he was here and alive and not some trick of the Fade. He was unsure whether Carver had been able to deliver the message, or if he had if Leandra would even respond. He had to admit it did already drive him a little crazy knowing she already belonged to another man, but he knew he wasn’t imagining this spark between them. 

He wasn’t even sure what it all meant, yet. He just couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss, and how he wanted those lips to be sighing his name, and every stolen glance his way encouraged him. When she looked at him, he felt like everything else in the world ceased to matter, and though he felt like he should be worried about this obsession he felt, he would do nothing to stop it. He wondered what it would take to bring another smile to her lips, to hear her laugh once again. He wanted to know everything about her joys, her fears, her troubles, her comforts. He recognized a fake smile when he saw one. He had to put a few on for Charlie and Carver and in the Circle, a good fake smile was as good as armor. She seemed so restrained from the determined fiery woman he met in her dream and he longed to know what it would take to bring that side of her out again. However, Scholar was not happy with this new development and would not leave him alone.

_ “Could you grab at least one more shrimp puff?” _

Malcolm was sick of shrimp puffs. “Just grab another one from my memories,” he grumbled.

_ “But they taste better fresh,” _ the spirit whined. It floated to the edge where the balcony opened back into the palace, layers of red cloth framing the sides.

Malcolm patted his belly. “You feel this?”

Scholar patted his stomach curiously.  _ “It’s a kind of nice feeling.” _

Malcolm was astonished by that. A nice full belly full of actual warm food. He hadn’t had that in a while. “Well, it means nothing more can go in. I’m meeting a girl soon so I’ve been real nice considering how much I’m having to suck my gut right now.”

Scholar looked at Malcolm’s belly with what looked like a deep frown.  _ “Why are you doing that? Let it out. It doesn’t like that.” _

Malcolm suddenly wondered if his breath would be bad from all the different food he ate. He meant to pace himself, but when everything tasted so good, it was hard to say no to another bite. He grabbed a sprig of mint from the empty platter he grabbed from a waiter and shoved it into his mouth chewing. He had already had 2 sprigs but he figured another one couldn’t hurt. As he chewed he glared at the spirit. “Now scat already. I did what you wanted.”

_ “But you still haven’t told me what a tongue is?” _

“I said it’s something mortals have.”

_ “That doesn’t explain anything. Some demons have tongues, too.” _

“Then ask a demon. I’m not a teacher.” Malcolm swallowed the mint, hoping it would soothe his gut.

_ “But a demon might warp me?” _ The spirit quivered at the thought.

“Not my problem. Now, will you scat already?”

It put its red phantom hands on its skeleton wraith thighs and huffed again. “ _ Fine, stupid mortal. You win. If you teach me all I need to know for my quest of knowledge I will aid you with knowledge about Zelophehad, though it will surely lead to your death.” _

Malcolm perked up, snapping his eyes up to the wraith. “You’ll help me find it?”

The demon shook his head.  _ “No. If I tell you where it is before you’re ready you will die for sure. But I will help you get stronger so you may idiotically seek it on your own.” _

Malcolm widened his eyes seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. “When do we start?”

“Who are you talking to?”

Malcolm glanced over his shoulder to see Leandra who was staring at him in open confusion and he realized he had been speaking to Scholar aloud. He lost grip of the railing and almost tumbled off the ledge before he caught himself, but Leandra still screamed and rushed up to him and grabbed him by the waist, pulling him over the balcony so he rolled on top of her. They both groaned, having hit the ground hard and Malcolm was very aware that his body was pressed against hers, so soft and foreign his body just responded on its own. His face burned as he realized that she had felt his hardness form on her thigh and he scrambled off her before she could make sense of what happened. Still from the redness on her face, she surely felt it and he was utterly mortified.

Scholar sniffed in between Leandra and Malcolm, curious about the concoction of emotions brewing. “What is this?” Scholar seemed entranced.

“Apologies, my lady,” Malcolm bowed his head, trying to ignore Scholar, but he was so sure that he had just blown it. “I should not have put you in this position.” Why did his body have to have such a strong reaction to her? Other girls had moved his loins, but he had always found with some mental discipline he could somewhat control his reactions. With Leandra, he felt off-kilter, like every part of her set him alight. His thoughts were in a blender, churning chaotically as he tried to figure out a way to rectify the situation. 

Leandra shyly looked away. “No need to apologize, it was an accident.”

You are more gracious than most.” Malcolm found none of the confidence he had earlier in his presence, especially when the fresh memory of her body made his own body betray him still.

They kept themselves turned away from each other as they adjusted their clothes to be presentable again. Malcolm gritted his teeth using magic to force enough blood away from the member, the pain of sensation helping to soften as he got up. He offered his hand, hoping she couldn’t see.

“A most curious reaction,” Scholar plucked at Leandra as s he took Malcolm’s hand and pulled herself up. “Are you going to taste her next?”

Malcolm’s anger spiked so sharply the spirit recoiled. _ “If I have to tell you to scat again the deal is off!” _

The spirit scurried from the emotion like it was being chased by a whip. Malcolm relaxed his shoulders, realizing the buzzing was fading from his mind when he realized that Leandra had frozen at the expression on his face.

“Have I offended you, Ser?” she dropped her hand and looked down shyly.

Malcolm kicked himself. “No, not at all.” He found himself stumbling for any explanation that could explain his rude expression. “I guess I’m just surprised you came,” He immediately kicked himself again as her expression bloomed with guilt.

“I almost didn’t,” she admitted.

Malcolm tried not to let himself be disappointed by that. He knew there must be a million things holding her back while he had absolutely nothing to lose. He knew he was on borrowed time with her, but he was greedy for every second. “Still, the fact that you did?” he took one step forward offering his hand once more with the swell of the music, “does this mean you’ve come to dance?”

Her eyes seemed entranced by his hand, her hand reaching up on its own but she curled her fingers away.

“You know I’m engaged, though…” She seemed torn by the implication of taking his hand meant.

Malcolm smiled, knowing that would be her answer. “And I ask for nothing you would not give freely.”

She bit her lip at that. “I wish I was free to give more.”

Malcolm’s smile widened, encouraged by that, and re-offered his hand. “Who says you’re not.”

She laughed, the sound easing his nerves, and finally took his hand. He pulled her in close swaying to a slower version to the beat of the waltz. “You’re a very dangerous man to talk to.”

She looked more beautiful than she remembered, her skin softer than possible. She was nestled so close, her body cradled against him like it was meant to be folded there. Every brush of her skin was a cruel reminder of how easily she set him aflame and he struggled to concentrate. He wanted to know if she burned just as much for him if his closeness was a terrible temptation like hers was. For now, though, he could be content to just hold her, humming along to the tune until he spun her around and led her in a waltz across the balcony. Her eyes gazed deeply in wonder, and Malcolm could feel himself falling in the stars reflecting at him. She was magic itself, lighting him up in a warm glow that illuminated them both as they danced, little wisps of light following in mimicking swirls.

His fingers were hyper-aware of where he was holding the small of her back, where he had placed his hand on her waist, and suddenly he understood the appeal of dancing. His feet and hips moved in a rhythm of their own not in time with any current dance but Leandra seemed to be able to follow the steps on instinct. Her eyes kept darting down to his lips every time he leaned in close and he was having fun making her red teasing her. Still, it was only madness he could resist for so long. The need to taste her again thrummed in every part of his body.

“Would it be awful if I asked to kiss you, again?” Malcolm found himself asking. “Being an engaged woman at all.”

“Again?” Leandra froze and blushed from her ears to her shoulders. Malcolm smiled as she looked at him in puzzlement, trying and failing to place him. “I-I’m an engaged woman. You shouldn’t ask!”

Malcolm was unable to keep from smirking at her fluster. “But still I did. Do you protest?”

“I should,” she blushed, ducking her head, but her voice sounded frail and unconvincing. Still, Malcolm let the disappointment show on his face and respectfully added more distance.

“Terribly sorry to tempt you,” he apologized truly, seeming to accept her answer easily. “I won’t pester you for more than a dance.”

This time the disappointment on Leandra’s face was clear. She choked on her words, hesitating, but she inched closer so they were pressed back up each other and said, “Well you can pester me for a little more than that.”

Malcolm’s eyes darkened. “You might want to be careful, my lady,” he took her chin gently, enough so that she could resist but instead her whole body lit up in anticipation, her pupils dilating and her skin goosepimpling at his touch. He lowered his lips, his words a hum. “I can be quite a pest.”

But before their lips could touch screams echoed across the palace halls stopping the party short.

  
  
  



	5. Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I deleted this and put this back up. Hezjena2023 was kind enough to beta for me and then I got in a negative slump after my tablet died and now I have tablet but it sucks but I have this chapter. Which I cut in half from the other chapter cause it needs major rewrites. Anyways ramble over. Hope you like.

“Flee! Flee! Flee!” The Fade was shouting in unison from its very being.

Below on the dance floor, was a tear in reality, a gnarled inky rip where wisps poured out chaotically flinging silverware and food and candles and all sorts of things as they struggled to make sense of this new environment they were forced into. Plates crashed against the gilded walls. Food was smeared on expensive cloth. Knives embedded in the walls. 

The ball attendees cowered in fright, fleeing for the exits as templars brandished guns and swords at floating dishes but not firing in fear of hitting someone innocent. Something seemed to be agitating the wisps, drawing them across the Veil, but Malcolm couldn’t tell what. 

He saw a crown of blonde hair, and heavy templar gear, corralling the other templars and barking orders to clear the dance floor of people and coordinating attacks on the dishware. That only could be Knight-Lieutenant Meredith. Still, if she was securing the area where was Carver? Malcolm scanned the dance floor but he was nowhere to be found. All the chaotic emotions were stirring up the spirits, which were stirring up the people, which were stirring up the spirits. It was only moments from being a bloodbath.

“What in the Maker’s name is happening!?” Leandra looked at the remnants of her party, her eyes wide in fright as she clutched Malcolm’s arm for support.

Before Malcolm could answer, Scholar was pulled through the Veil and Leandra screamed at the sight of him floating on the balcony.

Malcolm grabbed her hand and in a commanding tone said, “Stay calm.” He squeezed Leandra’s hand, and with the pleading warning in his eyes, she took in a steadying breath, her eyes nervously flitting between Malcolm and the creature. 

She looked at him with wide eyes, her fingers digging into him as Scholar whirled around in confusion, bubbling in uncertainty. “Oh, no, no, no, no, no. I didn’t mean to come through.” 

“Scholar,” Malcolm’s voice was stern. “Go back.”

Scholar’s fingers were elongating into knife like talons, its skeletal teeth jutting out of its jaw in unnatural angles. “I can’t,” he held his head with his trembling fingers, lengthening with every second. “I’m dying. We’re dying.” Scholar turned its skeleton face towards Malcolm grasping out for help. “The veil’s been sundered. Somniari, you must heal it.” 

Malcolm turned to Leandra who gaped at him in questioning, he flinched. Did she know what that word meant? He faced her fully, uncertain how she was taking all this news. “I need to go into the Fade. Can you watch my body?”

“Watch your body? What for?”

And then without explanation Malcolm plopped down on the ground and laid his back against the stone, which was cold and uncomfortable. 

She looked at him as if he were daft. “What are you doing?”

Malcolm felt only mildly self-conscious. “Just watch my body,” he repeated. Then he closed his eyes, the sinking feeling turning into a rush of vertigo as he slipped through the bridge of the Veil. 

He counted one second, then two, and by the third he choked on the pain of his breath, opening his eyes to see the Palace but warped and in nightmarish colors. His body rejected the wrongness of the magic, manifesting as shards of molten glass trying to burst through his skin. In the agony of it, he fell to his knees. Thousands of searing needles assaulted him to the bone, trying to incinerate him from inside out. There was a dark corruption spreading from the heart of the dance floor, inky balck threads linked through the Fade sundering all it touched. He could see a hole where magic was pouring out, the wisps of the Fade were drawn to this like a magnetic pull, those that touched the corruption, twisting and warping and blackening before they fell tumbling from the Fade. 

“Flee! Flee! Flee!” the whole Fade shouted while the corrupted wisps began to attack the unaltered ones with intent like a plague.

The Fade itself felt sick and was shrieking. Breathing in the air was like sucking in smoke. It was labor to get in a steady flow of breath. He reached into the air feeling for Scholar, peeling back the layers of the Veil like an onion until he could see the impression of a red aura trapped on the other side. “What’s happening?” Malcolm asked, reaching through the thin layer he created to try to pull the creature through. Scholar was desperate, its knife-like talons cutting into Malcolm’s hand in a panicked grip. Malcolm jumped back, the creature’s touch so cold and alien, and they clung to Malcolm as it tore through the hole he created in an attempt to come back home. The creature was so black now that Malcolm thought he had brought the wrong spirit through. Its shape was no longer recognizable, the spirit struggling to hold on to its form. 

“Zelophehad has seen you,” Scholar said in a voice Malcolm didn’t recognize. 

At the mention of the terror demon, dread crept in Malcolm’s bones, fear locking him in place and suddenly he realized around the Fade in every corner he was surrounded by goat eyes. 

“Do not feed it,” Scholar warned. “You must not add to his corruption. He will strike without mercy.”

Malcolm was not sure what to attack. His heart thudded slow and hard in his ears, the pain muddling his thoughts. Scholar’s color was almost gone, the creature almost completely warped. “Am I going to have to fight you, too? The whole Fade? Scholar, how do I fix this?”

The spirit's voice warbled, cracking at the edges in jarring discordant sounds. “You are the voice of spirits. You must calm us. You must heal the crying Veil.”

Could he do that? When a tear in the Veil happened at the Circle, he always had to tear off other parts of the Fade to thread the pieces back together but this hole was not so much a hole as it was a void that blackened the strings of the Fade into thick veins that snaked farther and farther with each pulse. Not knowing what to do he tried to hack at the corruption with his magic, but that only seemed to make it grow faster. In fact the corruption stuck to the light of the magic darkening it, and it leaked back into his hands like streams of dry ice rushing through his blood. He cried out in agony, his hands trembling. This was nothing he’d seen before. For a moment he thought of Leandra, wondered if she would be safe so close to his body. If anything got through she would be unprotected. He plucked the random strand of doubt and snapped it clean. He would not fail. He could not fail. Pricks of tears cornered his eyes as he fought through the pain but a seed of fear planted within his heart and taking root. He dropped the inky threads his fingers licked with white scars. His willpower wasn’t strong enough. 

“How?” Malcolm asked, his voice desperate. The Veil itself was wailing, like a screech that overtook his mind that blanked out thought. He did not even know how he was going to heal the Veil, let alone fight against this demon. He could feel the structure of the Veil starting to fall apart. It felt like the Fade was leaking back into reality, like water draining down a sink. 

Scholar crooked a knife-like finger. “How does one calm a crying babe? How does one stop the tears from flowing? There is not one answer.”

Malcolm looked at all the goat eyes blinking back at him, swirling in amusement, as if he was waiting to see what he would do. He took a deep breath and emanated a calming spell, half to soothe his frazzled nerves. But the scent of Malcolm's magic drew the wisps from their death march towards the Rift, and the Veil's shrieking seemed to lessen.

“Play,” a red shiny wisp dangled near his ear.

“Play,” another one bounced on his foot.

“Really? Now?” Malcolm asked in an annoyed tone. Their fallen zombie brethren were literally biting at their heels but not even the threat of death could stop playtime. 

“Plaaaay,” another wisp tugged on his sleeve with urgency.

He looked at Scholar who was huddling into himself and shivering as if he was cold, its new monstrous shape almost solidified. The creature was only able to choke out one word. “Listen.”

So Malcolm obeyed, reluctantly. He started with one little rainbow bubble that popped against a wisp, making it giggle with it’s eerie child-like voice. More wisps swarmed him. “Play. Play. Play,” they chanted their song, delighting when Malcolm surrendered more streams of shimmering bubbles. The wisps chased after them in delight, mimicking their pops and trying to replicate the sheen.

The altered wisps seemed to hesitate turning to the sparkling bubbles in interest, their little bodies swaying to a beat that was not there. “Play,” the wisps urged louder. 

The goat eyes seemed annoyed that Malcolm was ignoring them. The fear in the air was already dissolving, the sweltering pain under his skin soothing as the wisps glittered and glimmered and chanted their song among the bubbles soft pops. The blackened wisps seemed to be attracted to the bubbles, the sparkles of magic seeming to clean their murky color.

“Sing,” a red wisp twirled in one of his curls.

“Oh, no,” Malcolm shook his head as he waved another stream of bright bubbles from his fingers. “Let’s just keep it at play.”

But soon the “play” chant had turned into a “sing” chant that was getting more angry and agitated, and the wisps that had been getting better were starting to warp again. 

Malcolm looked at Scholar in a panic. “Scholar, what do I do?”

Scholar’s color looked like it was returning with Malcolm’s healing bubbles and it shook its monstrous head as if he was disappointed in Malcolm. “The wisps are already telling you, you stupid creature.” 

Malcolm’s stomach dropped as he looked at one of the goat eyes that were veering closer to inspect the song. Malcolm, nervously, didn’t know what else to do so he opened his mouth, singing a shaky rhyme with no real melody, “Hey little wisps. Go the fuck away. I really really don’t have time to play.” 

Despite the anger in his song the wisps seemed delighted and danced around him, lighting up the whole area so it was cleansed of darkness. The murky wisps seemed to be attracted to the brilliance, echoing the song until they too shone as bright as little stars, chanting happily. 

The eyes squinted in the brightness, blinking out one by one as magic poured from Malcolm’s hands and attached to the sundered threads and lit them in a heavenly glow.

The wisps danced around him, so Malcolm took the cue to do a little jig of his own, one of Darcy’s usual pop routines, which started as wiggle, dip, and snap of his hips, the pain in his limbs lessening with every carefree motion. The wisps whirled in delight. As he danced he waved more bubbles and sparkles in the air the wisps ate them up, shimmering as they followed his fingers. “Stop being creepy. It’s really freaky. Shut the fuck up, And get sleepy.” 

At that suggestion the Fade seemed to shake and yawn back at him, the dancing of the wisps getting more dazed and less excited. He saw one lone goat eye staring at him in what seemed to be confusion before it blinked out of sight.

Scholar sighed in relief and Malcolm noticed he was back to their old formless self and was eating a tray of shrimp puffs. “I preferred the ancient verses.”

Malcolm looked at the wisps that were now dozing in midair with puzzlement, the Fade glowing and humming the tune he had just been singing, the verses echoing back in a rhythmic pattern. The remnants of the white thread-like scars were still on his hands but the pain in his body receded until it was just the usual dull ache. “I have no idea how that even worked.”

Scholar cocked his head. “You sound so surprised we would listen to you. I guess it makes sense since you seem to spend so much time ignoring us.”

Malcolm bristled at that, not sure what in the Fade was listening right now. He decided now was not time to push his luck. “Don’t bother me for a while. I’ll come to find you when I’m ready to train.”

Scholar sighed in frustration pausing between bites. “So I’m supposed to just wait around until you’re ready and be shooed off whenever you get busy again? Frustrating.”

“Yup, that’s not negotiable,” Malcolm rolled his neck, stretching through the Fade to reach back down to his body. “So stay in the Fade and stop poking around my head.”

The red wraith seemed to at least accept his answer… for now. “As long as you bring a tongue back with you for me to experiment with. What about that cute girl you were with? She won't be needing hers will she?”

“If you so much as sniff one of her memories I’ll shove my foot so far up your ass that’s the only thing you’ll be tasting!” Malcolm’s temper snapped, scattering the wisps that were sleeping around him. 

Scholar burped, his jaw snarling. “Ooh I always hate how nasty that emotion tastes.” He then shuddered. “Fine not hers, but someone must not be using theirs.”

Malcolm shuddered, deigning not to answer that and instead reached back to his body, feeling the familiar vertigo of slipping back through the Veil. Normal feeling began returning to his limbs and his head so warm, he thought he had injured it with the pain he still felt from his trip from the Fade, but as he tested his movement he realized he was propped up on something soft, layers of soft cloth beneath his fingertips. He opened his eyes in surprise to find Leandra holding her breath in worry, his head in her lap. 

He didn’t want to move. In fact, resting his head and going back to sleep in her lap sounded fantastic but another voice brought him back to reality. 

“Did you go into the Fade without lyrium?”

The question was like a gun to Malcolm's temple, and his heart only beat faster in panic when he saw the real gun, an assault rifle, hanging from the templar's arm. He was in trouble now. Then he glanced at the gun-carrier's face, it was only Carver. He let out the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, his ribs aching. 

Carver softened his eyes at Malcolm. “I’m not trying to get you in trouble. I just...need to understand what I saw.”

Malcolm pushed himself upright, sorely missing the softness of Leandra’s lap and looked up at the templar that could easily shoot him. “What did you see?”

Carver sighed, blinking as if he didn’t really believe it. “Spirits were being called across the veil. More than I ever saw,” then he looked at Malcolm in awe as he said, “then bubbles started blowing from your fingers and everything seemed to stop.”

Malcolm’s cheeks burned. “Bubbles?” So that escaped the Veil.

Carver then raised a disbelieving eyebrow and said. “And then you started singing and it was like...the veil healed itself.”

Leandra caressed his hand at that statement, shyly adding, “You have a lovely singing voice.”

Malcolm realized he was grinning like an idiot when Carver was looking expectantly, waiting for an answer. So Malcolm asked, “Did you hear the song I was singing?”

That’s when Carver snapped. “Stop messing around, Hawke! I need answers. Now!”

At Carver’s tone, Malcolm jumped to his feet squaring his shoulders for inspection until he remembered it was just Carver. Still, even though he trusted Carver, he wasn’t keen to test it, and found himself at a loss for how to answer him without more questions.

“I just hopped into the Fade and used an aura to calm things down,” Malcolm finally said. None of that was technically a lie.

“And the demon?” Carver asked.

Malcolm flinched. Which demon was he talking about? But instead he feigned dumbness and said. “What demon?”

Carver gestured at Leandra and said. “There was a demon that the Lady kept me from killing even though it was seconds away from attacking us.” He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was saying. “But it disappeared back into the Veil before it turned on us.”

Malcolm blinked at Leandra in surprise. 

Leandra picked herself up as she said calmly, “The spirit warned us the Veil was sundered. As monstrous as it looked, it couldn’t have been evil if it knew to look to Malcolm for help.” Then she beamed at him so brightly he felt immediately flooded with warmth. “And he did help.” 

The overlapping murmur of the voices below on the dance floor was swelling into a chorus of screams making Leandra’s once confident shoulders tighten into knots.

“Leandra!”

“Leeandra!”

“Leeeeandra!”

Guillaume, her parents, and all of her friends were all looking for Leandra, and Malcolm knew from the paling of her face and the way her squeeze turned into a vice that she was not looking forward to going back, but she turned to Malcolm and bit her bottom lip.

“I should be going,” her voice was small and defeated.

Malcolm shook his head and said. “Tonight can’t be over,” he looked at her with pleading eyes. “Say you have got need to go home early. It’s the perfect time to ditch everyone and go find a better party.”

Leandra’s cheeks flooded with warmth, her eyes sparkling at the thought, but then she looked at her intertwined fingers and then at Carver in alarm, not sure where to go from there. “We probably can’t right?”

Malcolm turned his puppy dog eyes on Carver. “I’ll be so good. Like no lip for at least a week.”

Carver looked between Malcolm and Leandra until his gaze fell on their intertwined fingers, a conflicted frown creasing the settling wrinkles on his forehead. Then his shoulders sagged as his voice took a fatherly tone. “Enchanter Jakoby tells me you’ve turned in nothing all semester. If you promise to start turning in some of your backlogged homework I can consider letting you slip away,” Malcolm jumped up in pre-celebration dragging Leandra up in a slight hop with him that made her giggle, but Carver quickly put up his finger and said, “But I also want no lip for a month for this. And make sure to get started on all your classes, not just Enchanter Jakoby’s.”

Malcolm frowned thinking of all the work that had piled up all semester. “Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?”

Leandra elbowed him in the gut and he immediately perked up before Carver could snap, “Hawke!”

“Just kidding. Totally kidding. I’ll be good. Please don’t change your mind.”

“Leeeandra!” her mother’s panicked voice rang through the ballroom. “Andraste's blood! Is she missing!?”

Leandra looked at Malcolm, her eyebrows knitting together, as she sighed in regret untangling her fingers. “Don’t keep me waiting too long,” her voice was breathy, barely above a whisper, and before Malcolm could respond she gathered her skirts and dashed off the balcony and downstairs before her parents could make a bigger scene.

Malcolm felt his fingers reaching out, grasping for the hand that was no longer there, but another hand on his shoulder brought him out of his trance. 

Carver looked tense as he started pushing Malcolm back inside the palace. “Let’s gather the rest of the mages and officially clean up this mess.”

The inside of the palace looked so much brighter in comparison to the nightmarish twist the Fade had turned it to. The expensive crystal chandelier that once swayed over the dance floor had fallen and shattered around the ground shattering shards all along the floor. Malcolm and Carver started descending the stairs, the steps echoing Carver’s heavy boots. The angular medieval looking arches cast long shadows across the ballroom, the room darker than usual with the candles and light bulbs blown out. Servants were relighting the room in candles but the room in the energy remained nervous, as if people were waiting for things to jump from the shadows.

As he saw all the templars and guard working in coordination to route all the people Malcolm could feel his nerves start to rise. Templars were dangerous in normal circumstances, but add a few dozen spirits and all of Kirkwall’s nobles stuffed in one ballroom, someone would be out for blood and Malcolm would rather not be a target than get a thank you. “Do you need to say anything about me? I mean let’s just say you did it. You’re good at playing the hero.”

“Sorry, Hawke. How am I going to explain how a templar had any effect on the Veil? They’re going to want to know how I did it,” Carver then shot a cheeky smile at his friend. “Besides you only proved what Enchanter Jakoby’s been saying about you. I think this could earn you more privileges in the Circle if you play this right.” 

Malcolm wished he could wipe the triumphant grin on Carver’s face, his gut plummeting with every step down the stairs. Of course, the templar couldn’t see how dangerous it was to have such a target on his back. 

As he got to the bottom of the stairs, his foot crushed a wine glass turning many eyes of the nobles and templars to him. Malcolm shivered, remembering not too long ago the countless goat eyes staring back, but if he mis-stepped here, he could lose something more precious than his life. He instinctively ducked his head, stepping behind Carver who was already pushing through the crowd, parting the sea of faces with just his heavy gait and commanding presence.

Templars and guardsmen were helping frazzled nobles from their hiding places and trying to calm them down. Several women and men were wailing, frightened at what just occurred, the palace was a hum of talking voices, thankfully not as intrusive and imposing as the spirits of the Fade but the sound still put him on edge. Malcolm kept his voice low so only Carver could hear, “I was hoping we could keep what I did between you and me.”

Carver rolled his eyes, his subordinates stiffening at attention at his passing. “I won’t mention the singing,” he nudged Malcolm playfully.

Malcolm’s face remained serious. “No, I mean all of it.” If somehow this unraveled and they found out he was somniari, that would be it. There would be no more discussions and nothing that Carver could do to save him from being tranquilized to keep everyone else safe.

Carver’s jaw set uneasily, stepping towards him and lowering his voice. “Malcolm is there something you’re not telling me?”

Malcolm flinched but quickly coached his face into a mask, betraying nothing to anyone staring. “Of course, not.”

Carver lowered his head to Malcolm’s ear. “Because I can’t help you if I don’t know what I’m up against. You know that.”

Malcolm’s shoulders tightened, but he offered a lazy smile. There was no way out of this that he could see, so it was best to just not give any more away. “It’s not anything like that,” Malcolm said, his eyes averting to the right as he reached for a believable excuse. “It’s just going to be a pain if they try to pawn any more responsibilities on me.”

Carver shook his head, breathing out a chuckle. “Maker, you never change.” His gauntleted hand slid to Malcolm’s shoulder, “and normally I would encourage you to be yourself, and you should, but you’re courting Leandra Amell. Her family is probably one of the most powerful and esteemed houses in Kirkwall. If you want to be someone worthy of her, you might want to consider some thought of what kind of future you’ll give her.”

Malcolm’s jaw gaped, the blow to his ego felt as if he had been punched in the gut and though he opened his mouth to argue, he found that he had no rebuttal. He had given no thought to his future for himself, let alone one with her in it, and it was a scary but also exciting thought that seemed to fill him with an airy feeling, like he was walking on the moon. Until now he had only thoughts of escaping, so he didn’t give a fuck about his standing in the Circle, but with Leandra, he could see a beautiful vision forming, filled with the sight of her smile and the sound of her laughter. 

The vision was hazy, more like a mirage that could be blown away with the gust of wind, but he could see flashes of future days filled with trying to find a million different ways to make her smile, where he would taste the sweetness of her lips until he could memorize it on his tongue, a thousand mornings waking up next to her and greeting the day with the loveliness of her face. He could spend the rest of his life unraveling the mystery that was Leandra and suddenly it felt like something clicked. He finally had a dream, that wasn’t just of survival. He was taken back by the fierceness of how he wanted it. He knew his whole life had just rearranged course, but he had no uncertainty that he would pursue this future. He didn’t know what it would look like, but he would do anything to make sure to fight for every second with her. He knew all too well all the reasons it could end, but she belonged with him. He knew it with his entire being. It was only minutes since they had been apart but he was already searching for her face in the crowd, wondering if she was searching for him, too. 

“Am I going to mess this up?” his voice cracked a little as his fingers clenched and unclenched, his hand feeling empty without hers, the thought of it being permanently so a thought he couldn’t bear.

Carver squeezed Malcolm’s shoulder. “It’s not important that you mess up. We all do. What’s important is what you do to make it right.”

Malcolm looked at his friend, seeing age starting to show in the wrinkles in the smile lines. Malcolm nodded, feeling the unease in his gut start to lessen. He could always count on Carver for sage advice.

Carver then looked over Malcolm’s shoulders and tensed up, pushing Malcolm aside as he tore across the ballroom to stop Meredith Stannard who was taking a fistful of Taylor’s dress and intimidating the mage for information.

Malcolm ran after Carver, hot on his heels. 

“Knight-Lieutenant! What is the meaning of this?” Carver’s voice boomed across the palace as he approached the mage’s table where Enchanter Jakoby seemed to be trying and failing to reason with Meredith. 

Meredith released her hold on Taylor forcefully, squaring back her shoulders but held her glare, strands of bright blond hair falling into her cold blue eyes. Everybody knew Meredith’s story, though it was never to be brought up in her presence. Her sister was a mage and her family had tried to hide it. However, she turned into an abomination and Meredith was the only survivor of her family. She was brought to the Circle for training as a fresh-faced teen, having no other kin that could take her in, and she brought her distrust of mages with her. “It’s this mage’s fault. She brought the spirits to the party with that little Fade show of hers.”

Taylor was shivering, keeping her eyes to the ground averting them from Meredith. Malcolm gritted his teeth, knowing that she would have a difficult time even speaking at this point, but he felt powerless to do anything but watch with the growing crowd. He knew any action no matter how mild would be seen as insurrection. 

Thankfully Carver stepped forward, making sure to use his body to shield Taylor from Meredith’s sight. “What evidence do you have Knight Lieutenant?”

Meredith snorted as if it was a joke. “Logic, obviously. She summoned the Fade here and brought with her the spirits.”

Taylor wrenched her fingers together, the neck of her dress still in wrinkles from where she was grabbed. She kept her eyes low as she tapped Carver to get his attention. “I tried to tell her it was just a simple illusion spell, just a trick of light. Whatever happened with the haunting, my show was just a coincidence.”

“Or cleverly disguised blood magic,” Meredith retorted.

At the words ‘blood magic,’ a rush of whispers hushed through the crowd as they all glared with Taylor with renewed distrust. 

Enchanter Jakoby stepped forward, pleading with the Knight-Captain. “That accusation is ridiculous. Taylor practiced that spell in my classroom countless times and there were no Fade disturbances.” Enchanter Jakoby glared at Meredith, straightening his tie. “You must conduct a proper investigation, Knight-Lieutenant, or risk overlooking the real cause.”

Meredith’s nostrils flared as she took a menacing step forward, hand on her gun. “Are you telling me how to do my job?”

Carver straightened his shoulders, towering over her with a growl. “No, I am.” He pointed to the crowd. “I want interviews of all the staff, the guards, and whoever else was conscious when the Veil shifted. No one is to go home without being interviewed or scheduling one. I want thorough reports on my desk come morning. Is that clear, Knight-Lieutenant?”

She opened her mouth, her face reddening but she bit back her response with the snap of her jaw. “Yes, Ser,” but then her icy cold gaze turned haughty as she looked at her wards. “Should I start with the mages?”

Carver shook his head. “I will be conducting the mage interviews starting with Malcolm.” Everyone’s eyes snapped to Malcolm, and he felt himself shrinking, not sure what Carver was going to say next, especially with the way he was grinning at him. “He was instrumental in healing the Veil and I think it will be key to our investigation.”

Enchanter Jacoby's eyes shot up in surprise as Malcolm’s fellow students broke down in whispers. Some among the crowd of nobles that were all now looking at him with renewed interest. 

Meredith scoffed in disbelief. “That lazy elf did no such thing.”

Malcolm knew his grades were pitiful but if they only knew how many demons he slayed while everyone else was snoring they’d shut up quick. Malcolm opened his mouth about to say something snarky in retort when a gauntlet covered it, muffling his reply. 

Carver smiled all teeth. “Knight-Lieutenant were there any casualties reported?”

Meredith narrowed her eyes and sniffed sharply. “Fortunately not.”

Carver smiled truly at that and looked at Malcolm like a proud father, removing his hand from Malcolm's mouth to pat him fondly on the shoulder. “Then perhaps we should thank this elf?” Then Carver bowed his head in respect, causing the other nobles to renew their murmuring. “It could have been much worse without your aid. We templars are in your debt.”

Malcolm felt a strange puffing in his chest that swelled. Pride? Ego? Still, he liked the way the nobles had looked at him for the first time with respect. But Malcolm knew that more questions would come. They would want answers and Malcolm knew he could give none that would not eventually lead to his doom, especially with a bloodhound like Meredith sniffing around him.

“What did he even do?” Meredith raised an unbelieving eyebrow, inspecting Malcolm with an icy glare.

“That I already know,” Carver smiled serenely. “What you must now concern yourself with, Knight-Lieutenant, is what everyone else knows. Dismissed.”

Malcolm snorted. He did love when Carver pulled rank. He could see Meredith start to implode, her face reddening as she struggled not to argue but she reluctantly gritted her teeth and stormed off barking orders to her nearest junior. 

Carver then turned to Taylor who was still shivering, giving her space, but keeping his authoritative soothing tone. “Are you alright, Taylor?”

Taylor nodded, her eyes bleary looking like she was blinking back tears. She turned her face away from everyone and sniffed. “Thank you, Carver.”

Carver's warm brown eyes flooded with guilt. “Not at all, I should have got here sooner.” He turned to Enchanter Jakoby who stepped forward. “Please keep your students near the mages table. I will come for you all one by one for your testimonies.”

Enchanter Jakoby nodded. “Of course, Knight-Captain.” Then he began gathering his students, starting with Taylor, and led them back to their designated seats.

Carver sighed, released the tension in his shoulders as he pressed a pressure point between his eyebrows. “You do know that I’ll have to get your testimony later and that I’ll need some actual answers from you.”

That’s when Malcolm tensed up again. “I was kind of hoping I already gave it to you.”

Carver snorted. “Nice try, Hawke.” He then placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Now, let’s go get your girl before you drag me into more trouble.”

Malcolm grinned at that thought. He loved the sound of that. His girl.

Mara thankfully found Leandra before her parents could and she quickly brought her up to speed about the situation with her and Gamlen in a quiet corner away from peering eyes. 

Leandra was grateful that she had time before meeting her parents, a chance to breathe before she pulled off the biggest deception of her life.

“So Gamlen told them,” Mara looked happy but from the breathy tone and the crease of her brow, she had some worries. “We’re officially dating in everyone’s eyes. They were…not happy.”

Leandra cringed inwardly, secretly hoping that her parents would somehow be reasonable but she smiled brightly and squeezed Mara’s hand. “They will be one day.”

A flicker of doubt washed over Mara’s face before she smoothed it into a smile. “Maybe,” she dropped her eyes before the mischief returned to them. “Sooooo, did anything happen with dream guy?”

Warmth flooded to Leandra’s cheeks but she couldn’t keep the smile off her face. She wondered if she should tell Mara about the accident, about how Malcolm got hard on her thigh, but Mara would want to dissect every detail of that so she decided to save that for later and said, “He wants me to ditch the Ball with him to go to another party.”

Mara squealed, the sound echoing through the palace, drawing stares before Leandra smacked her hand over her friend’s mouth. Mara pulled Leandra’s away looking almost feral. “And you’re going? Prim and proper Leandra is ditching her own party?”

Leandra realized how unspeakably rude to ditch her own party. “I mean…maybe I should stay until the party’s officially over.”

Mara scoffed. “Please, who's partying right now?” She gestured around the templars and guardsman all scheduling interviews with the nobles and pulling servers into spare rooms for interrogations.

Leandra bit her bottom lip. Unable to argue with her point.

Mara’s purse chirped and she dug out her phone and frowned at the message. “Shoot. Gamlen says your parents are filing a missing person report.” She grabbed Leandra’s hand and started pulling her towards the Barracks. “We better stop them before your face is plastered throughout the city. You’ll never be able to sneak out, then.”

Mara could move when she wanted to, and she was practically elbowing people out of the way as they winded down the halls back to the more judicial areas of the palace. The grand tall ceilings arched into more angular buttresses as they approached The Viscount’s Hall, where every major judicial ruling passed. The militia also had their main base in this wing, the Barracks housing hundreds of soldiers. Guards, who gave the ladies a respectful berth, were scurrying around the palace like chickens with their heads cut off, their faces haunted by the events that just transpired. Hauntings were unfortunately common in places like Kirkwall where the veil was so thin. Countless tragedies had stripped the Veil of its strength, the templars the only shield against the demons that would sometimes slip through. A haunting this severe, with so much activity, was a little more unusual. A single spirit slipping through might be common but for so many would take the aid of something dark like blood magic. But who would attack? And why stop so suddenly?

Gamlen was perched near a pillar, by the front entrance to the Barracks. He didn't even look up at them as they entered the wing. There was a deep frown etched on his face and he was looking distinctly out of place, compared with all the guards in their full suits of armor. He seemed completely absorbed in what he was currently reading and didn’t notice Mara and Leandra’s approach until Mara called out to him.

“I’ve brought her! Call off the search!” Mara laughed easily.

Gamlen’s eyes slid up from his phone, his face flooding with relief and he walked up to Mara, planting a kiss right on her waiting mouth. He grinned against her lips as Leandra looked away to give them privacy. “I love that we can do that in public, now.”

Mara peered up at him, grabbing his tuxedo by the lapels. “Me, too. Even if your mom keeps making ogre eyes at me.”

Gamlen grinned back, the deep frown lines that were usually etched in his face soft and pliant under Mara’s gaze. “That’s the best part.” Mara snorted, giggling as she swatted him playfully.

Leandra smiled serenely. She was truly happy for them, that seed of envy seemed to shrivel up inside her with the knowledge a pair of golden eyes was waiting for her. Still, she noticed that there was a hardness in Gamlen’s gaze as he looked at Mara, almost like he was scared. 

He tucked some hair falling out of Mara’s bun behind her ear with care, his lips in a tense line. “Can I talk to my sister for a second? We have some family business to discuss.”

Mara rolled her eyes. “Anything you say to Leandra she’ll just tell me later, so why bother?”

A tick flickered in Gamlen’s square jaw as his blue eyes met Leandra’s in worry. “That’s her business.” He quickly recovered with a smile, but it was far too tense to reassure either of them as he dug through his pocket for his wallet to hand Mara a twenty silver bill. “Go pick up something sweet from the vending machine. It won’t be long.”

Mara tutted, as the bill slid into her hands. She looked over at Leandra with a worried expression. “Want anything?” she asked, lingering between the siblings, her fingers crinkling the crisp bill between her fingers.

“Maybe something with strawberries?” Leandra asked knowing they’d probably have something sweet stocked.

Mara nodded, slinking away, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she disappeared down to the lobby where the vending machines would be kept. 

Leandra looked at her brother, finding that his shoulders had risen to his ears as he clenched his hands in a broil of emotions. 

“They’re firing Mara.”

All the wind was sucked from Leandra’s lungs and she swayed at the news. She knew her parents would be unhappy, but to resort to this? Mara had been born to her position as Leandra had been born to hers. She was a constant in her life since she was a child, always there to dry her eyes, made her laugh through her tears. No matter how petty her complaints were, Mara never made her feel silly about her feelings. The thought of living without Mara made her breath stutter in her chest. 

Leandra squared her shoulders, a sense of urgency running through her as she considered all her options. “I’ll reason with them.”

Gamlen snorted. “You weren’t there when I broke the news.” He gritted his teeth, his eyes glazing over as he recalled the memory, gesturing to his cheek, the tawny skin deepening in a bruise. “Mom smacked me. Told me she’d disown me if I went through with this.”

“She didn’t,” the words escaped her before she could stop them and Gamlen glared.

“They told me they were going to make a call to the lawyers tomorrow to revisit their will,” Gamlen’s nostrils flared as a deep guttural grunt sounded from the back of his throat. “Not that I care. They haven’t given a shit about me since I was a teenager. You just can’t let them do this to Mara.”

“And I won’t,” Leandra took Gamlen’s hands and squeezed. He was putting on a good front but his fingers were trembling. “But you have to know, Mom and Dad do care about you.”

Gamlen’s shoulders tightened, snatching away his hand. “They haven’t for a long time.”

Leandra’s heart ached, hearing the brokenness in his anger. “Gamlen-” But then he glared, shutting up whatever she wanted to say.

“Stop trying to give me therapy. You don’t understand,” he snapped. 

Leandra flinched, looking down at her hands, knowing he was right. She lowered her gaze in shame.

Quickly, all the anger deflated out of Gamlen, and he sucked in his breath as he struggled to find his next words. “Just focus on Mara. I can’t lose her.” His voice sounded frail, scared.

Leandra found the jelly in her spine solidify in resolve as she looked at her brother. She pulled him down into a hug which he resisted at first, but after a few moments allowed it. “I can’t lose her either,” Leandra murmured against his ear. Then she pulled away, looking up at him. 

He was averting his gaze, seeming embarrassed by her affection. “I’ll think of something,” she said squeezing his hand.

Gamlen’s lips creased into a thin line but he nodded, accepting her answer. 

Then Leandra marched past him and downstairs into the Barracks, where her parents were no doubt torturing the Guard Captain. As her hand slid down the marble railing, she quickly prepared a series of arguments that she could use on her behalf. Leandra was used to being Gamlen’s advocate growing up, and she had found she was always dragged into the role of mediator. She knew her parents would somewhat listen to her, though she would have to prepare an airtight defense. 

Her mother was a famous lawyer, who had a pretty impressive record for how many convictions she won, and her father was a rather prominent politician, being groomed as the successor for the Viscount’s chair. Neither had much tolerance for petty emotions. If there was a flaw in her logic, or if she stepped too far into the territory of emotional pleas she knew she would lose this battle. No, she would need to present her case logically, as the best choice for everyone.

She could hear her Mother’s sharp shrill voice rattling the crystal glass of the Guard-Captain’s office as the dark heavy oak door had been left slightly ajar.

“Take my word, Guard-Captain, if my daughter is not home safe come morning I will hold this whole office personally responsible,” Leandra pressed her head against the glass, her fingers trembling against the brass doorknob. “And believe me I can tie up your office with so much litigation you’ll need to hire more assistants to help you with the paperwork!”

“And I will have a press conference come morning calling for your head, for the incompetence of losing the heir of my house in plain sight of a whole squadron!” Leandra’s father’s booming voice came next in harmony with the double attack that her parents had learned to perfect over the years. 

She swallowed down the rest of her fear, pushing herself inside before her parents could threaten a lawsuit or something worse.

“Mother! Father!” she smiled brightly, but her dress was already sticking to her back from the sweat that suddenly started pouring from her. “There’s no need for that! I’m fine.”

Her mother collapsed into her father in relief, clutching a red silk cloth in her hands as the frazzled Guard-Captain stayed trapped behind his giant office desk. The aging man offered a yellowing smile that was tired as he gestured a pudgy finger towards Leandra. “I told you, you were being pre-emptive. She was probably just in the lady's room.”

Her mother scowled, wrinkling the red silk in her hand with a clench. “We looked in the lady's room and no one saw you. Where were you? Explain!”

Leandra hesitated, realizing that her first believable excuse had been taken.

“I felt feverish…after the dance,” she averted her gaze to the thick brocade carpets that decorated the small space, unsure if her lie was even believable. “I went out in the garden to cool off and rest.”

“Without an escort?” her father snapped. “What if something happened to you?”

Leandra caught herself mid eye roll and plastered on a diplomatic smile. “Are we not safe in the most fortified building of our city with a whole array of armed guards?”

Her father’s nostrils flared. “Clearly not if there’s spirits pouring out of the walls. You should have stayed close.”

Her mother placed a hand on her father’s arm. “Aristride, I know you’re scared but it’s important we remain calm.” 

The older man seemed to audibly swallow his anger. “You’re right, let’s focus on what’s important.”

Her mother stepped forward, brushing Leandra’s cheeks with the back of her hand. “Should we call a doctor to check that fever?”

Leandra tried not to panic. They had a family doctor that had no problem taking midnight calls and she was very nosy. She relied on her fever because it was convenient but Doctor Waller charged by the hour and so always was extra “thorough.” “That won’t be necessary. I believe I just need to retire for the night and get some rest.”

Her parents exchanged worried glares. “I believe that’s for the best,” her father nodded. “We’ll be due for a cleansing at the Circle, tomorrow.”

“The Circle?” Leandra cocked her head, wondering how many times fate would throw Malcolm in her path. 

Her mother nodded primly. “Yes, I think we’re all due after being exposed to all this corruption.”

“Wonderful,” Leandra sighed, clenching inwardly for the fight that was sure to come. “I’ll inform Mara of the changes in my schedule. She’ll have me ready early morning.”

She coached her smile to give nothing away as her parents looked at each other with weariness and intertwined their hands, stepping together in unison as if it was choreographed. “We have decided to let Mara go,” her father started.

Leandra kept the fury from her face. She hoped that Gamlen had been mistaken. Still, she was grateful that Gamlen warned her for she would have misstepped almost immediately if she had been caught off guard. “Mother. Father. I believe in light of the circumstances you might be acting hasty in your decision.” She folded her hands as she presented her case. “Mara has never been late, always goes above and beyond in her duties, and her family has been with ours for so long she is family.”

“She’s not the only servant who has served us for a long time. She’s not that special,” her Mother retorted.

This time the anger did show on Leandra’s face but she managed to keep her head. “What even is the cause for this if it’s not retaliatory?”

Her parents also kept their heads, though they both seemed annoyed to having been questioned. Her mother sniffed. “We believe Mara has been putting silly ideas in your brother’s head.”

“Which ones?” Leandra found herself raising her voice to an almost impolite level. “The one where she convinced him to go back to business school. Or how about when she helped check him into rehab.” She shook her head, thinking of all the countless smarter decisions her brother had made since Mara inspired him to. “Do you not think you might be judging the situation a little preemptively.”

Both of her parents scowled as if those reminders were just footnotes. “I believe we are judging the situation just fine,” her father flared, his face reddening a shade darker. “And do you not think it inappropriate to be bringing that up in such company.” He then glanced pointedly at the Guard Captain who was busy reading the paperwork on his desk to avoid looking at the Amells’ fight.

Leandra sniffed sharply, trying to suppress the glare at the hypocrisy of her parents. “Then perhaps we should allow the Guard-Captain to return to his very important duties and have this discussion somewhere else.”

The Guard-Captain looked relieved at that suggestion. Her parents seemed miffed that Leandra was taking charge of the situation but they both bowed their heads as was proper. “Good night, Captain,” her Father said stiffly and guided his wife out the open door where Leandra patiently waited. When her parents stepped through, she shot an apologetic smile to the Guard-Captain and closed the door behind her.

Her parents led her up the stairs and Leandra thought her parents might wait until they got somewhere private but her mother said, “This is not a discussion.” She didn’t bother to look back at Leandra as she held her husband’s hand. “I already have candidates in mind and you will choose a new Lady-In-Waiting tomorrow.”

She could see the smug grins on their faces over their shoulders, the haughty way they held their shoulders in triumph like this was over, and it set Leandra fuming. “And I’m too busy to train a new lady’s maid,” she kept her voice level, but she could feel her temper rising like a pot in a kettle about to blow. “No one knows me like Mara. No one is as thorough or hardworking either.”

Her mother stiffened stopping on a step to look down at Leandra with a haughty glare. “Are you not bringing your bias into this?”

Leandra had to keep herself from laughing but still, a short bark escaped. “You want to speak to me of bias?”

Her mother’s eyes darkened as she stiffened her posture. “This is not a discussion,” she repeated and continued up the stairs.

Leandra found herself shaking as she walked up the steps to see Mara and Gamlen waiting by the banister with their fingers intertwined sharing a coke. Her heart ached when she noticed that sitting on the ledge was a bag of strawberry hard candies Mara had snagged from the vending machine, her favorite. Mara often brought these when Leandra was working, since they carried the same brand at her office, without even prompting, because that was Mara. Maybe it was her job to care, but Mara cared with all her heart. She couldn’t imagine starting over with some stranger, letting someone else on all the private details of her life. She couldn’t lose Mara. She wouldn’t lose Mara. 

Her parents cornered the couple with clasped hands, openly glaring at Mara and Gamlen’s blatant display. When they saw her parents approach they both stiffened, Gamlen deflating, his eyes searching for Leandra for hope. Gamlen looked like he wanted to drop Mara's hand but he held strong when he saw the confidant smile on his sister's face.

Mara curtsied and dipped her head, lowering her gaze to the ground. “My Lord. My Lady.”

Bethann Amell sharpened her lips into a razor smile and said, “Mara, we do have a change in the household to discuss.”

Mara looked at Leandra in panic, sensing the strange tension in the air. “And what is that?”

Leandra stepped between her parents with her head held high, and without missing a beat she said, “As the new heir to the Amell, I will be taking over responsibility for your salary.”

Mara, Gamlen, and her parents all bugged their eyes out her sockets, and Leandra kept her serene smile, meeting her parent's eyes as she added, “And I’m giving her a raise.”

“With what money?” Her father piped up, face so red it almost matched the color of his suit. “We’ll cut off your allowance!”

Leandra squared her shoulders. “I make more than enough with the salary I make at my job thank you very much.” She then realized she had no tension in her body, and she was buzzing from her head all to her toes. Somehow just dancing with Malcolm gave her confidence she didn’t know she could feel. “And Mara, Gamlen, and I are leaving now. I’ll see you tomorrow at the Cleansing.”

Gamlen’s jaw stayed gape as Mara looked at Leandra with a mixture of amusement and awe. Her parents both looked so shocked that Leandra had just stood up to them that they had gone pale, each looking to the other for the words that were both failing them, their mouths opening and closing like confused fish.

Leandra didn’t wait for her parents to find those words. She grabbed Mara’s hand and marched away from her parents, feeling more alive than ever. She had her friend by her side and a handsome man waiting for her. There was nothing that could stop her tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks hezjena2023 for betaing this for me and the hilarious line What about that cute girl you were with? She won't be needing hers (tongue) will she?” You really helped make this story sparkle and though rewrites are slow I think it's worth it

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me at enby-hawke on tumblr where I post more art and writing things. 
> 
> Thank you hezjena2023 for betaing this for me. Your thoughts and input have been invaluable and your comments keep me going.


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